


This Can't End Well

by HigherMagic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Bodyswap, Djinn!Gabriel, Incubus!Dean, M/M, skinwalker!Sam, vampire!Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean disappears one night without a trace. Frantic, Sam enlists Castiel's help to find him, only to have the Angel reappear with Dean, beaten to within an inch of his life. Meanwhile, Dean wakes up in a strange house on the other side of town, with a monster at the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean was no stranger to waking up in a house he didn’t remember getting to – in fact, recently, it had been kind of on par. As long as he managed to get home alright, he figured no harm no foul, and after the epic fuck-up that had been the last hunt, he figured he deserved a damn drink too many, or five.

Besides, it was just common courtesy to go to the girl's house – that way he could slip out when he'd finished and avoid the whole awkward 'morning after' moments, steal into his car that he really shouldn't have driven there and peel away, leaving behind a mere memory and a smell on the sheets.

Blinking open his eyes, the first thing Dean saw was white. White ceiling, white walls…everything was white, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought he might be in a hospital, or dead (he'd ended up in a hospital once after a one-nighter went wrong, so it wasn't a _completely_ strange thing to think. He did know, from experience, however, that death wasn't like this). But, blinking a few times and opening his eyes further, he saw that, no, he was neither of those things – just in a recently purchased home. He guessed that, when he sat up, from the half-unpacked boxes piled up on one side of the room. The bed he was lying on was large and spacious, the sheets felt soft and new – definitely more upper-class than what he was used to.

The sheets were a dark royal blue, and they felt so soft and inviting under Dean's fingertips that he almost contemplated waiting until the chick came back up and demand he get out. But that was just awkward, not to mention rude, so he threw his feet over the side of the bed and began the long search for his clothes.

Or he would have. Turned out he was still fully clothed, and that realization made him frown, looking back around the room again. Why was he in a strange house with no memory of how he'd gotten there…? Dean swallowed, suddenly on the alert, and stood. There was only one door to the room, but there were two large windows and he headed over to those first. Outside was the picturesque suburban street, the trees and sidewalks just lightly dusted with snow – there were two or three tracks in the street that spoke of cars, and given that it was – he checked his watch – nine in the morning, he assumed it must be a pretty quiet street.

He took another look around. The houses were large and typical; he wondered just how many people he might share the place with, right now. His gun wasn't tucked into his jeans; he had no weapons currently on him. He would have to rely on his wits and strength alone.

The Impala was not parked outside. He either _really_ couldn't remember anything and totally blacked out before even getting anywhere with his lady of the evening, or he was taken here against his will. Either way he probably wouldn't get the most polite greeting ever when he went downstairs.

His phone was in his pocket, he found, and he pulled it out, scrolling to Sam's number. It rang three times before the 'This is Sam. Leave a message' recording played, and Dean grunted, hanging up again.

"Well," he murmured to himself, "must not be a kidnapper." They did leave him his phone, after all. Not the typical M.O. of a headhunter or body snatcher. Then again, humans were plain crazy, so Dean would still have to be careful.

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Dean made his way to the door. He hadn't heard Sam's cell going off on this floor so Dean figured he was there alone, with whomever else might be here that had come here with him last night. His shoes were off, and his bare feet made little to no noise as he softly padded down the hallway, carefully listening for any movement around or beneath him. All of the doors to the hallway were wide open, letting in the morning light. It seemed like every room was in a stage of being unpacked, like whoever lived here had literally just moved in, and Dean frowned, wondering what kind of person would take a one-night-stand to a home that was barely lived in. There were no pictures hung up on the walls, no furniture set up.

Only one room looked even remotely lived in, and it was at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. Dean spared a glance downward, seeing that, like on the upstairs floor, none of the lights were on, natural daylight the only illumination to be found. Cautiously he went into the room, flicking on the light, and one single bulb flickered to life overhead – without a lampshade.

The walls were a deep, rich red color, like blood, patterned with copper and gold leaf to create a kind of repeating forest motif that spanned through the first two walls Dean saw when he swung the door further open. The end wall was completely covered in a bookshelf like something out of English romance novels – Dean was almost convinced that one of them would lead to a secret passageway. Biting his lip and tossing one last glance over his shoulder, Dean stepped all the way into the room, closing the door behind him.

There was a fireplace set half-way down the adjacent wall, and it looked recently used, and in front of it laid a large, thick Persian rug. Dean gave a soft whistle, his bare toes digging into the softness. "Pricey," he muttered, raising an eyebrow and looking around the rest of the room. In fact, everything in there looked of extremely high quality – definitely didn't match the dollar store boxes and Ikea bed, though the sheets made a little more sense. Clearly, whoever lived here had a sense of comfort and wouldn't spare any expense for it.

He almost jumped when he heard the front door slam, and he quickly plastered himself to the door, holding his breath as he tried to hear the other person moving around downstairs. He heard a jingle of keys and the rustle of paper bags being set down, figured she went to go grocery shopping. There were no windows to this room, and he knew the light would give him away, so he hurriedly flicked it off, casting himself into darkness.

The daylight from outside filtered under the door, and Dean held his breath, bracing himself when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, saw the shadow of the other person approaching. Maybe, if they went all the way to the bedroom, he could slip out and try and get his bearings and maybe just leave. Because still being in bed for an unsatisfied one-night-stand was one thing, but being caught _snooping_ in said one-night-stand's house while she was gone was an entirely different ball game.

The steps reached the top of the stairs, and stopped. Dean swore he could hear the person _sniff the air_. "Dean?" came a cautious voice, calling out like the first victim in a horror movie, and Dean's eyes widened, because _that_ was _not_ a female voice. In fact, that voice was decidedly male, and Dean let his eyes fall closed, just briefly, shoulders sagging. Maybe he had had a bit too much to drink last night.

Still, live and learn. Move on – now was _not_ the time to have a big gay panic.

"Dean?" the voice called out again, and the shadow and steps move away towards the bedroom, and Dean took a deep breath, frowning a little – he could swear that the voice sounded a little familiar…but he shook it off. Sensory memory from the night before. Of course he would remember the voice of the guy he'd gone home with.

Right?

"Dean, are you home?" Well, _that_ was a little weird to say, but Dean wasn't really paying attention right then – he was concentrating on how far away the voice was. It was exactly twenty-seven paces to the bedroom. He had counted fifteen…

"Dean?"

Eighteen…

"Dean, you're scaring me. Come on out, baby."

Twenty-three.

"I'm sorry about last night, I didn't mean to -."

Dean stopped listening, then, and quickly and quietly turned the handle on the door, shoving it open as firmly but as quietly as he could. The door swung open on oiled hinges and Dean quickly, after checking that the coast was clear, ran to the steps and quickly padded down them. The stairs turned twice, so he ended up facing the way he came, and looked around the very open-plan lower floor.

"Damn it," he muttered, looking up, able to hear the footsteps of the mystery man coming back his way. He couldn't see his shoes, didn't know where his car was or if he left anything that could identify him to the mystery man or tell him where he had gone…Quickly Dean swerved left, around a column supporting the house and then further still, towards what he assumed was a back door.

When he tried to open it, it didn't budge. It was not only locked, but something had jammed it in place, there. "Damn it," Dean growled again, looking up through the glass windows to the garden outside. There was about a foot of snow back there – where the hell _was_ he?

Then, suddenly, he was not by the door anymore, but being slammed face-first against the wall next to it. He grunted in surprise, trying to twist around to get a hold and throw his attacker off, but there were strong hands caging his wrists, knowing fingers pressing down hard into the pressure points on the inside and Dean hissed in pain, sinking down to his knees when the man behind him shoved him down, because the way he had his arms caged Dean felt like the guy was a second away from dislocating his elbow, and he'd rather call this one lost and get out without being too badly messed up than fight too hard too soon.

There was a hand on his head, keeping his gaze centered down. "Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice low and rough and Dean could only think _definitely familiar, where the fuck do I know that voice from?_ But his brain was addled from a hangover he was only just starting to feel coming on and the pain of being slammed against the wall and he couldn't think, couldn't place it.

"You've been calling my name," he gritted out, "you tell me."

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, as the mystery man behind him growled, and Dean felt him kneel down, hands tightening painfully around his wrists. "Where is he?" the voice demanded again, and Dean gasped and shook his head because how the hell should he know? He didn't even know where _he_ was. The hands tightened. "Where is Dean?"

"I'm right here!" Dean gritted out, bending forward because it _really_ fuckin' hurt, whatever he was doing to his hands, and no matter how Dean tried to wring them free, he couldn't. "Listen, buddy, obviously we're both a little confused so why don't you just let me go and we can -."

"I don't have _anything_ to say to you," came the reply, and Dean swallowed when the creature let him go, standing instead, but Dean had a feeling that it would be better to keep his head down, so he did, trying to steal glances out of the corner of his eye. All he managed to glimpse was a thin body encased in loose-fitting, frayed jeans, bare feet also, and pale hands that hung down by his sides. He tried to look further up, to get a face or any distinguishing features, but the man looked back around at him and Dean quickly ducked his head.

The man growled. "Come here," he muttered, grabbing Dean by his collar and hauling him up, but Dean struggled, turning around, trying to get a punch in edge-wise, to get the advantage and run away. The last thing he heard, before pain exploded on the side of his face, was a dark laugh and a soft 'nice try'.

  
  
  
  
  


It had been too long – Dean was usually back from his random romps with women by now. Or at least he would have called, would have gotten into contact somehow; let's face it, when it came to Sam, Dean never tried to hide. He never left Sam in the dark when he could help it.

Sam frowned, knowing Dean's phone hadn't been picking up, and so tried Castiel instead. It went to voicemail. "Cas? It's Sam." He swallowed, clearing his throat, and looked down. Dean's car had never even left the bar parking lot. "Listen…you haven't seen Dean around, have you? It's been four hours, and I still can't get a hold of him. Call me back when you get this."

He hadn't left with anyone, so far as anyone could tell him – the bartenders didn't even remember seeing him, but that was definitely the Impala, sitting in the car lot. Sam swallowed back his worry, knowing something bad must have happened to his brother, but all he could think to do was start her up and drive her back to the motel, keep searching, and wait for either Dean or Castiel to make a blip on his radar.

  
  
  
  
  


The barking of Hellhounds spurred them on – it was wet, raining steadily, had been for the past four days, on and off, and he knew they were running out of time, before the hounds would catch up.

"This way!" he yelled, grabbing his mate's hand and hauling him in a different direction, and the larger man stumbled but managed to keep up. "Damn it, change!"

"I'm not leaving you behind," came the gritted out reply, the stubborn refusal to leave him, and he shook his head, looking back over his shoulder. He couldn't see them coming, because they were not after him – they were after his mate.

"Damn it," he murmured, looking ahead of him again, and spied the dark aluminum roof of a barn. "That way! Go!"

They hauled ass towards that barn, the barks and growls of the hounds just behind them when they ran inside. "Salt?" he asked, and the other man shrugged, helpless – they didn't have anything. Why would they? They had to run and that meant no weight. He growled, rubbing his hands together, and tried to think, tried to come up with a plan, but the barks of the hounds were so _deafening,_ and his mate's fear was like a tangible sour taste in his mouth.

"Okay…okay," he whispered, rubbing his hands together again, tribal markings coming to life on his face as he summoned his power, tried to think of a spell – any spell, that he would be able to cast, to hide them or transport them away from here.

In another step, he felt a dark, cold shiver down his spine. Sigils flared to life under his feet and he looked up, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as his mate stared at him, and then the door they had come through slammed open and the demon stepped inside.

He was smiling.

"Have at 'em, darlings," the demon said with a careless wave of his hand, like he couldn't care less, like he didn't even give a flying rat's ass that he was about to kill an innocent creature – someone who didn't deserve -.

"No!"

He had to watch – helpless, trapped in a circle that is faintly glowing with power, he had no choice but to watch everything in horrific, sharp-edged detail. The scream of pain felt like it might be coming from his own throat, blood spurting, hot and thick in the rain-tinged air, over a broad chest and through desperately, weakly clutching fingers. He fought against the sigils holding his power at bay, but he was just one man – just one man, how could he fight against such a powerful creature?

The air was heavy with the scent of rain – the storm was thoroughly breaking over them. It might have been in response to his rage, to his anguish. He couldn't tell – he didn't care.

A broken scream of pain cut through the air as the body he was watching being ripped to shreds slumped to the ground, blood leaking sluggishly from the wounds on its chest and legs. He'd tried to fight. He'd tried to run away – _damn it_.

"No," he whispered, blinking past tears of fury and grief, falling to his knees and clutching at his own heart, as though he were the one to have been dealt such horrific wounds. He could see the outline of his mate's still heart through the giant cuts on his chest.

"A debt's a debt," came a voice, and he fell forward to brace himself on his hands and knees, fingers curling into fists against the concrete of the barn floor – it looked like it hadn't been used since the sixties, marred with dirt and weathered down. His eyes began to glow, full of hate and ire, and he snarled as he lifted his head, shoving himself to his feet.

"I had time!" he accused, throwing a hand out, intending to snap the smug little man to pieces where he stood, but the circle of sigils pulsed with power and there was no effect. The demon laughed. "I still…" He choked off, looking to the broken body, tears finally pouring over and starting to roll down his cheeks. His mate's skin was pale, blood pooling around him, thick and dark, staining his outstretched arm, as though he had tried to reach for him in his last moment.

Dark, sorrow-filled hazel eyes flashed back to the demon. "Let me keep him," he begged in a soft whisper, fingers slowly uncurling from his clenched fists, flexing nervously at his sides. "Don't take him away."

The demon laughed again, folding his hands over his belly and rocking on his heels. "So that you can just use your Djinni magic to summon him back?" He shook his head, stepping forward to the very outer edge of the ring of sigils. The creature's eyes pulsed blue in hatred, a snarl rolling from his mouth as the tribal markings on his face began to stand out – the magic was weakening in the circle. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

"You son of a bitch," the creature growled, baring sharp, shark-like teeth as he finally managed to tear his eyes away from his fallen mate, to the smug little demon standing in front of him and regarding him with cool black eyes. "I'm going to hunt you down. I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I will make you regret this."

The demon chuckled darkly. "It's fifteen-love, sweetheart. I look forward to your next serve." Then, with a snap of his fingers, he and the dead skinwalker disappeared, with not even a trace of blood to get the scent by, and the Djinn was left to seethe, and plan, within the circle of the rapidly fading runes.

  
  
  
  
  


Dean came to in the basement. Well, he assumed it was the basement, from the smell of water and the cold, bone-deep chill radiating from the cement walls. He looked around, grunting and trying to clear his throbbing head, and sat up a little, only to find that ropes had him bound tightly to the chair he was sitting on, wrapping several times around his chest and biceps, then his wrists. There were also ropes around his ankles and strapping his thighs down so he really couldn't move, despite how much he wiggled and tried to see any weakness in the bindings. There were none.

"Son of a -." He was cut off, then, as the door to the basement swung open behind him. He tried to turn around, to get a look at the guy who attacked him, but his head couldn't turn that far and he soon gave up. The door closed, casting him in shadow again, before a light flickered on overhead.

It was only bright enough to illuminate a thin shaft of the basement, where Dean was sitting, and the outer edge of a metal desk that stood just in front of him and off to one side.

 _This is not gonna be good,_ he thought to himself, listening with baited breath to the soft footsteps approaching him. He jumped when he heard something clanging against metal, and looked over to find the man standing, with his back to him, setting out a series of…Dean couldn't _not_ use the word… _implements_ on the desk.

He couldn't see much of what the man was holding, couldn't see his face or make out any details aside from his pale, long-fingered hands. There was a flash of a silver knife before it was set down, and a flask, and the scent of blood in the room was very strong.

"I'm going to ask one more time," he said, voice too light and conversational when Dean swore he could hear the _shing_ of a whet stone over a blade. The man turned towards him. "Tell me where Dean is, and we can brush this off and call it a misunderstanding."

"When will you realize that I _am_ -." Dean cut himself off with a hiss when the man, faster than he could keep up with, stepped forward and plunged the silver knife into Dean's shoulder. The Hunter cried out, fighting against his body's instinct to curl up on itself, because it would only make the bleeding and tearing worse, and sat back, breathing heavily, sweat beginning to gather on his forehead and down the back of his neck.

"Tell me what you did with him!"

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about!" Dean snapped back, jaw clenching, fingers curling harshly into the wooden arms of his chair as the man yanked the knife back out, growling in displeasure when Dean showed no signs of being affected other than a grunt of pain. "What are you, a hunter?" he demanded. "I'm not anything supernatural!"

The man paused, briefly, looking over his shoulder at Dean. "I'll be the judge of that," he murmured, before taking a flask of holy water and throwing it on Dean's bare forearm. Nothing. He growled again in frustration. "How does a man break into my house and overpower my mate and come out the other side, unscathed as you are?"

"Your… _dude_ , what are you _talking_ about?" Dean asked, blinking in surprise at the use of the word 'mate' – only monsters had ever used that word, in his experience. "What _are_ you?" He deliberately ignored the little connection in his mind that the 'Dean' this guy was thinking of was _mated_ to this psychopath.

The man paused again, looking over towards Dean who was staring at the vague spot he imagined the guy's eyes were. There was a flash of bright blue irises like the silver knife in the half-light. "My name is Castiel," the man said, and Dean's eyes widened. He sat back and stopped trying to fight against his bonds, blinking dumbly towards the other man.

"Cas?" he hazarded, confusion crossing his face.

In a flash, the creature was there, holding a knife to Dean's throat. Fury flashed in his eyes and he snarled, baring more than one set of teeth behind his lips, the second set serrated and jagged-edged like a shark's.

"Don't call me that," he growled, pressing a little more harshly, his eyes flat and dangerous. "Don't you _dare_ call me that. You are not him."

"Woah, woah," Dean cried out, shrinking back away from the press of the cold blade against his skin, fear spiking through him for a moment. Looking at Castiel's mouth – and it _was_ Castiel, he saw that now, lacking the Angelic Grace – with those teeth, his mind supplied him with one word; _vampire_.

What the hell was going on?

"Look, listen, calm down, I think I understand what's going on here -."

"Do you?" the not-Castiel demanded, pressing a little harder.

"Yes, damn it!" Dean bit back in reply, turning his head to one side to try and get more room between his throat and the knife. The alternate Castiel seemed to subside at that, his white-knuckled grip on his knife relaxing, eyes dragging down from Dean's face to the vulnerable line of his neck, and it clicked in Dean's mind that baring his neck to a vampire was probably not the smartest thing he had ever done, but it was too late for that now. "Listen…I have a Castiel too," he said, swallowing when the vampire makes a curious sound in his throat, leaning in and sniffing along the flexing tendon in Dean's neck. "But he wan't…he was an Angel – I mean, like, literally. I think, somehow, this Dean and I – your Dean, I mean – have gotten…swapped or something."

"Swapped?" Castiel repeated, his breath ghosting over Dean's pulse, his flushed-with-pain skin, and the Hunter shivered, tensing up defensively, making the vampire chuckle. "You shouldn't do that," he murmured, instead leaning his head down to the sluggishly leaking wound in Dean's shoulder. "It'll make you bleed out faster."

Dean tensed up further in response to that, wincing when pain shot up and down his arm and shoulder, and his arm began to feel numb. He wiggled his fingers to try and get feeling back into them. "Listen," he gasped out, one last time, "I know you don't want me here – you want your mate back." It took willpower he didn't even know he _had_ not to blanch at the word 'mate' in reference to something that apparently shared his name. "Well, I want to get back too. So help me – help me figure out what's going on and how we can get everyone back where they're meant to be."

"Hmm…" The vampire paused, his breath very close to the open wound in Dean's shoulder. One of his hands came forward, pressing against Dean's chest, against his pounding heart, and Castiel chuckled, leaning in and licking, once, at the smooth trail of blood running down from Dean's open wound. Dean shuddered, fists and jaw clenching at the sensation of being… _drunk_ from – he knew the feeling, of being a vampire, even though he'd never tasted human blood; he knew how good it smelled, how… _tempting_ it was to bite and drink forever.

The vampire lapped at his wound again, just one more small flick of his tongue, before he withdrew, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, though there was no blood there to wipe away. His narrowed eyes regarded Dean.

"You will wait here," he said, "and I shall be back."

  
  
  
  
  


Sam's phone buzzed at five thirty in the morning – the Hunter rolled over sleepily, wiping at his face and the tiny amount of drool that had been determinedly mapping the corner of his mouth to the pillow with his palm, before sitting up. The bright blue of his phone made the little black letters trying to bleed into focus hard to see, but after a few more slow, rhythmic buzzes and another face-wipe, Sam managed to focus enough to see the name 'Cas' flash across the screen.

Immediately he flipped his phone open. "You got anything?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes again and willing himself to wake up.

"I've found him," came the Angel's reply, sounding tired and accomplished. Immediately, a lot of the tension that Sam didn't know he was holding bled out of the younger Winchester's body, and he heaved a huge sigh of relief, brushing a hand through his hair.

"That's great," he said, smiling a little. "Where was he?"

There was no answer, but in a flutter of wings Castiel appeared in the motel room, a distinctly Dean-shaped burden in his arms. The Angel flashed his eyes over to Sam, and then flopped Dean down on the other bed, and that was when Sam got a good look at his brother. His eyes widened and he shoved himself out of bed, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Dean…looked a little worse for wear. His neck looked like something tried to take a bite out of him – his shirt was ripped open and bleeding sluggishly, like the wound was fresh. He was very pale and, aside from the occasional flicker of his eyelids, looked like he could almost be dead.

"What the hell happened to him?" Sam demanded, hurrying over to his brother and sitting down on the bed, placing his large palm on Dean's forehead. He was not overly warm, not feverish. Quickly Sam rose again, heading over to get the first aid kit.

Castiel stopped him. "That is not necessary," he said, and then pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead, healing him. Immediately the blood stopped flowing and the marks on his chest and neck healed over, leaving nothing but a bloodstain to say they were ever there. Sam swallowed, looking up to find Castiel watching Dean with his brow furrowed in concern. "I found him three towns over," Castiel said, eyes flashing to the younger Winchester's. "In a house that I could find no links with, to him. It had been abandoned and I could find no signs that someone had been there recently."

"Someone obviously did this to him," Sam snapped, gesturing back to his still slumbering brother. "You're saying no one was there?"

Castiel blinked at him. "There was no sign of anything, supernatural or otherwise." The Angel paused. "I can look again, if you'd like."

"No." Sam huffed out a breath, shaking his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I can go check it out, maybe…after he wakes up. See what he remembers." There was another pause, the two of them staring down at Dean's prone body, before Sam smiled a little and looked towards the Angel. "Thanks for looking, Cas – I really appreciate this."

The Angel graced him with one of those almost-smiles. "Anytime, Sam."  



	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  "Sam, I feel there is something I should tell you, before your brother wakes up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

"Sam, I feel there is something I should tell you, before your brother wakes up."

The younger Hunter raised his gaze from where it had been focused on his brother's sleeping body, eyebrows drawn down and lips pressed together in thought, picking absently at the remains of his lunch. It had been a little over a day and Dean still hadn't stirred. Nothing but vague murmuring that Sam knew Dean tended to do in his sleep – sometimes even woke himself up with them, when he was particularly vocal during his dreams.

The look on Castiel's face just made Sam even more concerned – the Angel looked troubled and hesitant, as much as something who had about the range of facial expressions as a cat could look. "Yeah? What is it?"

Castiel shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable, his gaze traveling back to Dean's prone form. "When I…" Again, he hesitated, pressing his lips together in thought, before looking back over to Sam. "When I cleaned your brother's body, I investigated. To be sure that he had not suffered any physical injuries internally." Sam nodded, accepting that – it made sense. Dean had been roughed up beyond belief and Sam would have had no trouble believing that he had suffered a concussion or broken ribs during the fight, whatever had happened. "And I found that his body had suffered what I can only assume was some kind of sexual assault."

Sam blinked at Castiel. "What?"

The Angel shook his head slightly, dropping his gaze away. "I found evidence of intercourse and…it did not feel…consensual," was his reply, sounding uncomfortable and…Sam had to take a moment to place the emotion in Castiel's voice…angry. The Angel was angry. "And it did not happen just once."

Swallowing, Sam looked back to his brother – Dean's face was pale, his lips parted in a steady breath. He didn't look troubled – there didn't seem to be a reason for him to still be asleep. Even exhausted, Sam had never known Dean to sleep more than six hours a night and here he was, well into his eighteenth.

"What else do you think they did to him?" he murmured softly, looking back up to Castiel.

The Angel gave a small, one-shouldered shrug, looking troubled. "I can search his mind, but I do not know how well I will be received," he said. "And some things…I would not want to take that secret from him, Sam."

"No," Sam replied, swallowing a little, shifting in place on his chair. He didn't want to know either, and if Dean never wanted to tell him, then that was perfectly fine with him. "Do you, ah, I don't know how it works but maybe you could…see who did this to him? CSI the evidence?"

Castiel shook his head. "I did not think to look, and his body is clean now."

Sighing, Sam nodded, and stood up. "I'm going to go ask around, see if anyone saw Dean last night and if they did, what might have happened to him." Castiel nodded. "Look after him, alright?"

"Of course, Sam," the Angel replied, moving to stand closer to Dean's bedside, and Sam shook his head, knowing any attempt to talk Castiel into sitting down or not standing so close would go unnoticed or ignored.

The door closed behind him softly, and aside from a brief movement and a sigh, Dean gave no indication of hearing or being disturbed. Castiel knew enough about Dean to realize the Hunter would have been awake from that sound alone. But Dean didn't stir. Frowning, worried, restraining himself from reaching into Dean's mind and finding out what exactly had happened, Castiel allowed his Grace to dim inside of his body, keeping watch without wasting any of his energies on unnecessary bodily movements, and settled down to wait for Dean to wake up.

  
  
  
  


It was two hours before the vampire who looked like Castiel returned, and Dean was fighting to stay awake – his shoulder had been bleeding continuously and he knew the blood loss was starting to affect him. Blood stained his shirt and it stuck to his skin and the air reeked of sweat and blood.

Needless to say, he was feeling a little nauseous with it.

"This is him," Castiel said, and Dean winced when light flared on above his head, casting the basement into harsh fluorescent light, and he lolled his head back, forcing himself to look up into the flat, hateful eyes of the vampire. He wasn't used to seeing such outright rage and hatred in that face, the angry curl of that mouth, the set of those shoulders, so tense and tight in clothing that wasn't boxy and plain. No, vampire Castiel was dressed well, in clothes that were simple but had that air of expense like when people pay fifty dollars for a t-shirt. Whoever this Dean was, he lived well, and had a rich mate.

Another figure stepped into his line of sight and Dean's eyes widened when he saw who it was. " _Gabriel?"_ he gasped, hardly daring to believe his eyes when he took in the short, honey-hair-colored man, who was looking at him like he couldn't quite figure out what Dean was doing, tied up and bloody in a vampire's basement.

"You know who I am," the Gabriel lookalike said, cocking his head to one side. Something flashed in his eyes – something like hope and recognition and Dean couldn't think past the throbbing in his head and the stench of blood in his nose to try and decipher it.

"He doesn't smell the same," Castiel breathed quietly, eyes flashing down to Dean's shoulder where the blood still sluggishly flowed. "Not as sweet. Says in another universe I'm an Angel." The vampire's upper lip curled back, the tips of his second set of teeth just visible among the pink of his gums and the white of his 'human' teeth. The laugh he emitted was harsh, almost cruel in how short and sharp it was.

Dean went tense as the vampire's eyes zeroed in on his shoulder wound. He really didn't relish the idea of becoming something's lunch right now – not until he figured out what the hell was going on. "Look -," he forced himself not to say 'Cas' just in time, "could you just untie me? I want to get back to where I came from just as much as you do and I'm not gonna be able to help sitting here bleeding to death."

"He knows about the supernatural," Castiel murmured to the Gabriel-lookalike, either deaf or uncaring towards Dean's plea for freedom, and turned his head to look at the other creature. "I know you know of these things, Gabriel. Are there other worlds? With creatures like us?"

"There are an infinite number of worlds," Gabriel replied slowly. "But I knew of none that had Angels."

"I'm _telling_ you," Dean grit out, twisting his hands in the sweat-soaked rope behind his back, rubbing his wrists raw against them and glaring up at the pair, "that in my universe, you two are fucking Angels, okay? Well, Gabriel's dead, and there was an Apocalypse that you both helped me and my brother stop and -."

"You have a brother?" Gabriel interrupted, his eyes glowing a little in a brief flare of shock as he looked at Dean, brow furrowed. "Who is your brother?"

Dean frowned back at the two creatures – vampire and unidentified as of yet. He already knew this universe was so much more different than the one he came from – fuck, apparently he was married (he couldn't bring himself to think 'mated') to a psychopathic blood-drinking _Castiel_ , but on top of that apparently he didn't even have Sam.

So…did Sam come over to this universe too?

"His name is Sam, and he's my younger brother."

  


  
  
  


Dean finally stirred awake in the late hours of that night. Sam had yet to return and so it was just Castiel keeping vigil over the sleeping Hunter. Dean groaned softly, rolling onto his back and blinking his eyes open, and Castiel was there.

"Dean."

Dean smiled, turning his head and blinking over towards the Angel. "Hey, Cas," he said softly, pushing himself upright and rolling his shoulders as he straightened, looking around the motel room. A small flash of confusion crossed his face.

"I brought you here," Castiel said before Dean could ask, and that seemed enough for the other man, who relaxed and nodded.

"Okay. Cool." For a long moment both of them were silent, Dean just looking around the motel room like nothing was wrong, like he hadn't driven Sam crazy with worry over disappearing, like he hadn't been attacked and nearly beaten to death, like he hadn't been sleeping for almost a day. Finally, Dean grimaced, pressing a hand to his stomach. "I'm starving."

Castiel nodded, once, slowly. "I shall go get something," he said, looking towards the door, and then back at Dean. "I shall…be right back," he added, stumbling over the colloquialism, and then was gone in a flash of wings, returning seconds later with a bag of take-out food from a fast food restaurant down the street – since incorporating himself into the Winchester world, he found taking food was a little more okay if he just left money behind for it, and he didn't want to leave Dean alone for any long length of time.

Dean's eyes widened when he returned with the proffered food. "How the hell did you do that?" he asked, taking the food anyway and digging in appreciatively, his hunger no doubt overriding whatever curiosity and shock he had felt.

Castiel frowned slightly. "Dean, I have always been able to do that," he said slowly.

The Hunter blinked, looking up at Castiel again, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Alright. I guess I must be really hungry," was all he said in reply, taking a large bite of the double bacon cheeseburger Castiel had gotten him with an appreciative moan. "We got any red Gatorade?" he asked around a mouthful of food, looking up at the Angel hopefully.

Again, Castiel frowned. He had never heard of Gatorade nor seen or heard Dean talk or think about it. He was _almost_ sure that it was some time of beverage.

"I can get some," he finally said.

Dean just smiled at him, and Castiel winged away again.

  
  
  
  


For a long, long moment, Gabriel and Castiel just stared at him like he'd just started speaking pig Latin at them. "What?" Dean demanded, voice a tight growl – it was getting really hard to think, he was tired, hungry, and _still_ bleeding and they weren't doing a damn thing about it. It was a wonder he hadn't passed out by now. "Sam's my younger brother. At least in my world, he is. Tall kid, muscle-man, mop for hair? Ring any bells?"

Gabriel pressed his lips together and straightened. "I knew someone like that," he said softly, swallowing hard and looking down at his feet for a brief moment. "He was killed last week."

Castiel frowned, ignoring Dean's gasp, and looked over to the other creature. "You believe this _thing's_ brother to have been an alternate of your mate?" he asked.

"Oh, you've got to be _fucking_ kidding me," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

The vampire's cold eyes flashed to him, and Castiel growled, upper lip curling back. "It is no joking matter, _Dean_ ," he hissed the name, snapping his jaws together loudly. "The loss of Gabriel's mate, or anyone's, is a horrible thing. They're supposed to be forever."

"So…there isn't another Sam walkin' around here?" Dean hazarded, and Gabriel shook his head, looking miserable. "Figures we'd both get mated to fuckin' monsters. What _are_ you, anyway?" Dean asked.

Gabriel's eyes flashed up to him and he hissed, eyes glowing blue and black marks coming up on his skin. "I'm a Djinn," he muttered, "and you'll watch your tongue with me, boy."

Dean just glared at him.

"What do you do, in your world, to be friends with Angels?" Castiel asked after another long moment, giving him an unimpressed once-over, "and to be so…devious when you woke up in my home?"

Clenching his jaw, Dean looked down, trying once more to shove his fingers through the tight coils of rope keeping his hands at the small of his back. It was useless, of course, like it had been every time before, but he felt he had to try because damn it, just because he was stuck here didn't mean he had to go down easy.

"I'm a Hunter," he finally said, looking back up at the pair. "I find, and kill, things like you."

"Hunters," Castiel whispered, eyes widening – but he didn't look afraid. No, he looked angry. "My mate is amongst _Hunters,_ Gabriel!" he hissed, looking towards the Djinn and Dean had just a second to think that some things never changed, even in alternate universes, before the vampire's enraged gaze fixed back on him. Suddenly Castiel was right in front of him, hand flying out and squeezing tight over Dean's throat, forcing his head back to look him in the eye. "If anything happens to him, I _swear_ -."

"Castiel, control yourself," Gabriel hissed, fingers curling around Castiel's arm and yanking him back before he could crush Dean' windpipe – the Hunter gasped, sucking in air greedily, head dropping forward as he worked his jaw and tried to get air back into his lungs. His heart was beating faster in anxiety and he felt dizzy. "I promise that nothing will happen to him."

"How can you promise that?" the enraged vampire demanded, whirling on his companion with a low hiss.

Gabriel swallowed, looking away. "I have a confession to make," he said, hesitating for a moment. "I mean, I should have told you, but I hadn't thought it worked…"

  
  
  


  


"So you didn't see a guy come in and leave here yesterday?" Sam asked, was asking the fourth waitress that night and it was getting exhausting. He needed a drink. Or ten.

The blonde shook her head, frowning a little when she took in how he rubbed at his tired eyes. "No, officer, I'm sorry." Then, she smiled, reaching forward and placing a hand on his forearm. "But I hope you find him."

Sam smiled back at her, before shifting in his seat, his phone vibrating in his pocket. With an apologetic nod towards the waitress, he stood, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear. "Hey, Cas, what's up?" he asked, knowing the Angel was the one calling him because who else would be at a time like this.

"Sam, Dean has woken up," came the Angel's reply, causing Sam to freeze where he was standing. Only a moment later he had grabbed his keys and headed for the Impala.

"Oh, how is he? Is he okay?" he asked.

"Well…" The Angel paused again, and Sam felt a little sliver of worry start in the back of his head. "In so far as mentally and psychically sound, yes, he is. But…"

"But what?"

"Well…Dean seems to have developed a craving for Gatorade and I was wondering what that was. Also, he no longer seems to have a soul."

Sam froze again.

"Of course I'm looking into it, but I thought you should know as soon as possible."


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  "You did _what?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

"You did _what?"_ Castiel demanded, his eyes flashing with rage as he glared at the smaller creature, and Gabriel gave a one-shouldered shrug, looking a little nervous but defensive too, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I searched other worlds," Gabriel muttered, "for another Sam. I just…I couldn't let it happen like that. I had hoped to swap their bodies – if I can get Sam's body back, I can drag his consciousness from death. I knew I could do it if I found the right one."

"Can Djinni even do that?" Dean asked amid the tense silence that stretched on for just a second too long. Castiel looked angry still, but the rage had calmed into a calm-before-the-storm attentiveness, willing to listen to Gabriel's story before letting his anger out.

Gabriel's eyes flashed to Dean. "Yes," he said, looking away just as quickly. "But I couldn't find a Sam that…well, in many of the universes he was dead. In others he was mated and I…I couldn't do that to another."

"So you did it to _me_ instead?" Castiel demanded, his voice low, snarling as he took a step forward. "Did you think that I should share in your misery?"

"I did no such thing!" Gabriel replied sharply, his own eyes flashing a deep, dark blue. "Watch your tongue with me, boy – you may be a fierce creature but I am still much older, and much more powerful than you without your precious feeder by your side."

Castiel snarled again, baring his upper teeth, his fingers clenching tightly into his palms. He was trembling, Dean could see. "Tell me what you did with him."

Gabriel sighed, looking towards Dean again. "I couldn't find any replacement for Sam's body," he said. "I needed something living to transport. So I stopped looking for Sam, and started looking for someone who could find him." Dean frowned, a bad conclusion forming in his head and an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. "And I found your world. You and your Sam had always been very close and I thought, maybe, that would be able to crossover. And you were a Hunter – your job was to find people. You were the best fit."

"So, wait -."

"You thought swapping them would be a good idea?"

"Would you _shut up?"_ Dean demanded, snapping at Castiel finally. "Dude, I get that you're missing your mate or whatever but I'm the one shoved into this weird-ass reality where apparently I'm mated to a vampire and my brother got killed because he got into some shit with a Djinn, so please, if you don't mind, _tell me why I'm here._ "

Gabriel snorted, smirking a little when Castiel's murderous glare fixed on him. "You're a Hunter. Your job is to hunt down and find creatures and I knew you would be invested in getting back to your own world. I had intended to simply bring you here as well, but I guess…I guess the magic demanded a trade." He looked back to Castiel, suddenly serious and looking contrite. "I hadn't intended for your mate to be caught in the middle. I didn't know such a thing would happen."

"He is among Hunters," Castiel growled, baring his teeth again. "If anything happens to him, I will hunt you down. There will be no universe, no place on Earth or beyond it you will be able to hide from me, be certain of that." And with that he turned and stormed out of the basement, quicker than Dean's eyes could follow, the door slamming behind him incredibly loudly.

Gabriel's mouth twisted into a wry smile as he looked to Dean. "Let's get you out of those ropes, shall we?" he asked, too cheerfully. "After all, we have work to do."

  


  


"What do you mean, no soul?" Sam asked, whispering under his breath. Castiel had come to meet him outside of the hotel room, leaving Dean happily gorging himself on red Gatorade and Mars bars, upon hearing the Impala's arrival.

Another thing that was different – Dean had given no sign of recognition towards his beloved car.

Castiel frowned, brows furrowing in thought. "He also seemed surprised at my ability to fly, when I got him food. Sam." The Angel paused, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know if this is some spell, or amnesia from whatever happened to him that night, or a combination of some other things, but that is not Dean Winchester sitting in the room. He's…" The Angel pressed his lips together, looking stressed…that was the only word Sam could put to the expression. He was worried. "He's drinking an unnaturally colored liquid like he's been doing it all his life and…he never once asked for you. Never."

Sam's brow furrowed in thought, and he looked towards the closed door as though it would give him all the answers. He sighed. "Well…only one thing to do, then," he said with a small half-shrug, and pushed open the door, walking inside with Castiel close behind him.

Dean looked up when the door opened, blinking once in surprise. "Sam," he said, standing with a small smile and leaving his meal discarded on the bed he had been sitting on. Then he stopped, seeing Castiel close the door behind him without anyone else following through. He frowned in confusion. "No Gabriel?"

Sam stopped again. "Dean…" He looked to Castiel, who was gazing at Dean with that soul-deep look, looking puzzled. "Dean, Gabriel's dead. Has been for a while."

Dean's eyes suddenly went wide, and he gasped, taking a step back. His hands came up from where they had been at his sides, one of them rubbing over his chest, above his heart. "No," he said, shaking his head and looking down. "No. I didn't feel his light go out. I…" Then, suddenly he looked angry, and fixed dark eyes on Castiel. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. "Sam…" His eyes flashed back to Sam and he shook his head, looking heartbroken. "Sam, I am so, so sorry. If I had known…"

"How could Cas have known? Dean, we were _there_ ," Sam insisted, taking a step forward – it was Dean's turn to look confused, then, fixing Sam with a look as though the other man had started speaking to him in a foreign language.

"I was unaware that you and Gabriel were close," Castiel chimed in, cocking his head to one side and flanking Sam as he, too, took a step towards Dean.

"Well…" Then Dean flushed, eyes ducking down as though embarrassed, almost shy, and Sam had no idea how to deal with it – there was just an inherent _wrongness_ about seeing Dean act like this. Somehow, very suddenly, Sam began to understand what Dean must have felt like when he had come back without a soul. "I wasn't, but losing a mate is…I can't imagine it. I would never want to go through something like that."

"A _mate?"_ Sam gasped, a small, dreadful feeling forming in his gut. "Dean, Gabriel and I weren't…well I don't know about him, but we weren't…we weren't together."

This time, Dean was the one who paused, blinking, and looked very carefully at both Sam and Castiel. For the briefest of moments – Sam wouldn't have even noticed had he not been watching his brother so carefully – there was a flash of silver in Dean's eyes, and then he straightened and took a step back, eyes narrowing.

"Who are you?" he demanded, voice hard and flat.

"Dean." Sam took a step back also, seeing Dean's eyes flash to the door, not wanting to start a fight with the thing wearing Dean's skin if it felt trapped or threatened. Dean – the thing that looked like Dean – bared his teeth in a small snarl, watching Sam's every move as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, we're just trying to figure out what's going on. Maybe some kind of spell made you lose your memories or something, or…"

 _"What_ are you?" Dean snapped, cutting Sam off with another soft, low noise – almost like a growl, a low rumble stuck in the back of his throat. He looked, briefly, to Castiel, who had yet to move, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle of Castiel's chest. "I've never seen anything like that before."

"What do you -?"

"What do you see?" Castiel asked, taking a step forward, and though Dean bared his teeth in a threatening move, he made no other move to attack Castiel, or even look like he would. In fact, his shoulders seemed to relax at the Angel's presence, his eyes drawn to Castiel's face and meeting the Angel's dark blue eyes, as though unable to look away.

Nothing new there, Sam knew Dean and Castiel stared at each other a lot, but the fact that it _wasn't_ Dean, and yet still they seemed to do that, was puzzling also.

Dean swallowed, eyes darting down to Castiel's chest for a moment, then back up to his face. "You're so _bright_ ," he whispered, his eyes shining, metallic and silver for another second, before fading back into the familiar green. "I'd never have to eat again if…"

He stopped, taking another small step back, until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Where am I?" he asked, eyes darting warily between Dean and Castiel. "Who are you two?"

"Clearly no one you've met before," Sam said, pressing his lips together, mouth twisting down. "But you knew our names."

"What are we, to you?" Castiel asked.

For a second, the expression that flashed across Dean's face was hurt – genuine hurt, as though someone had taken a knife and stabbed it right through his heart. "Sam is…Sam is Gabriel's mate, and Gabriel is your friend," he stammered, swallowing, the shine in his eyes not entirely from that metal filter anymore. "And you…Cas, you're mine." He looked up, disbelieving, his anguish meeting Castiel's wide-eyed shock. "We've been mated for years. Decades."

Sam looked at Castiel, who returned the stare, just as shocked as Sam felt.

"Dean," the Angel said slowly, returning his gaze to the distraught creature wearing Dean's face, looking up at Castiel as though the Angel was his entire world. "That is not me. We are not mated. You have no affectionate feelings towards me…like that." There, a flash of longing, of wistfulness, too quiet and subtle to really be noticed, too unimportant to dwell on right now, as with everything.

"I know that now!" Dean snarled, silver flashing across his eyes again as he bared his teeth at the two other men. "So who are you? And _where is my mate?"_

  
  
  
  


Castiel was not in the house when Gabriel led Dean out of the basement, the Hunter pressing a wad of cloth to his bleeding shoulder, gritting his teeth and basically trying his damnedest not to pass out. At least, Dean couldn't hear him moving – that, of course, meant nothing, but he had been able to hear the vampire moving about before, and so assumed he would be able to now, if the creature was still around.

"Sit," Gabriel said, snapping his fingers towards the bottom step, and Dean gingerly obeyed, making his way over and planting himself at the bottom stair. The Djinn knelt down and, without a word, forcefully moved Dean's hand down and took the bloody piece of cloth away.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded, flinching away on instinct – knew Djinni could give their victims one hell of an acid trip with just a touch, then feast off their blood, keeping them alive for an entire lifetime in their heads. Knew it firsthand, in fact, and didn't really relish the idea of entering into a Twilight Zone within a Zone. Even if Gabriel's story seemed pretty damn believable (if at the same time ridiculous), he didn't trust the thing enough not to throw him for a loop.

Gabriel snorted, smirking a little in a way that was just so damn _familiar,_ Dean almost forgot that this wasn't the trickster/Angel that he was used to, that he had, if not known, at least been acquainted with and trusted to a certain extent. "Healing you," he replied, laying a palm over Dean's injured shoulder, and the Hunter hissed when his hand began to glow, heat flowing from his palm into the other man and, though he couldn't see, he could feel the rips in his flesh being knit back together. "You go outside reeking of human blood and you'll never get a straight answer. Gotta look the part."

"And what part is – _shit -._ " Dean cut off, wincing again when Gabriel's magic worked itself deep into the knife wound, felt like burning iron was sealing the wound together instead of warm magic now. Reminded him of when Dad had had to burn a wound closed with his lighter and the business end of a machete because a vampire had gotten him on the arm, and he would have bled out if he'd tried to get anywhere because they'd been in the middle of ass-fuck nowhere. One of the last hunts he and Dean had been on before his disappearance had sent Dean searching out Sam. "What part is that? Don't you have Hunters in this world?"

Gabriel's mouth twisted slightly, brow furrowing as he thought. "Yes, but they are not hidden, and they are not liked…" He tilted his head to one side, other hand coming up to brace against the back of Dean's shoulder, pressing his hands over each side of the stab wound, ignoring Dean's grunt of pain. "In your world, monsters hide in the nighttime, only coming out to feed or to die." Dean nodded, pressing his lips together. "In ours, Hunters are the Hunted ones. We have police, government, tribes, all _things_. Demons are our lawyers, Vampires our politicians and schoolteachers, Werewolves our policemen…" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "We bet on Skinwalkers in races and fights.... Hunters are…our enemy. The things we tell our children about at night to make sure they behave. They are our monsters."

"…Woah," Dean muttered, rubbing his free hand over his mouth as he looked away from Gabriel, towards the front door. A whole different world lay out there – one where he would be Hunted, hated and probably killed, because he was a _thing_. He was the thing that everyone hated because of what he was. It felt a lot like waking up in that future world Zachariah had sent him to.

At least he seemed to have a friend in this one.

"You're older than Castiel in my world, too," he said, simply for something to say, because it didn't seem like Gabriel would volunteer any more information until Dean was healed up and they were ready to head into the case. "You're his older brother. Both Angels. You're an Archangel, in fact."

"That so?" Gabriel said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Bet Castiel would just love that – I'm a badass in every universe."

Dean chuckled despite himself, rubbing the heel of his hand against an eye socket. He felt like he hadn't slept in hours, and what had been early morning when he'd woken up in this weird universe had become at least midday, if not later. He'd been in that basement quite a while before Castiel had come back, apparently. "He said we were, um…" He coughed, not able to say the word quite yet, swallowing harshly. "How long have we…?"

Gabriel shrugged. "As long as I can remember. Before I met you, anyway." He paused in his work, moving his hands away from Dean's shoulder and leaning in, inspecting what he had done so far to the wound – the knife hadn't hit anything major, thankfully, and most of the muscle underneath had been sewn back together. It was hardly bleeding anymore. He placed his hand back against it, focusing his power yet again. "Seven, maybe eight years. But I know he and you – well, the real you – have been together for a lot longer."

Dean frowned. "How do you figure that?"

"You'd be able to see it, if you were someone like me," Gabriel muttered in reply, shrugging one shoulder. He looked up at Dean, meeting the Hunter's confused expression, before he smirked, eyes glinting with mirth. "Let's just say it's something that the senses can't ignore."

Dean swallowed, frowning again. "So, we're like, branded or something?" he hazarded.

"When something is that powerful, it has to leave a mark," Gabriel replied softly, looking down for a moment, back at his own hands, and moved his glowing palm away from Dean's shoulder again. "All finished up, I think," he said, brushing his blood-wet hands off on his jeans, and stood up. "Have a feel." Obediently Dean rolled his shoulder, hissing a little at the pull of over-tight skin against the dully aching joint, but it felt a hell of a lot better than it had before, so he nodded, pressing his lips together, and stood. "Now, we have work to do."

  
  
  
  
  
"Hunters."

The creature wearing Dean's face said it in such a deadpan way – like, 'Oh, of course you're Hunters, fuck my life, that's just perfect' – kind of way, that for a moment all Sam could do was blink, and nod. "Yeah," he said, shifting uncomfortably when the creature's icy eyes turned on him. "We, um. And Castiel is an Angel."

"Angels." That same tone, this time with a little bit of trepidation, as his gaze moved to Castiel, and he swallowed. "I've never seen an Angel before." Then, his gaze traveled to Castiel's chest again, where he could see the bright, ethereal light of what could only be Grace inside of the creature's body – it was so _bright_ , almost blinding in how bright it was and, now that he was paying attention, so different from the brightness of his mate and lover's. How he had ever thought of them as the same, he would never know. Blinded by his own relief, maybe, when he had been left the night before waking up in this world and not felt Castiel at his side. "I, ah…" He shifted, suddenly looking wary. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"I see no reason why we should," Castiel said, cocking his head to one side, towards Sam, as though seeking agreement from the younger man. "Clearly you have no idea what's going on, any more than we do, but I think everyone would like to get back where they belong as quickly as possible, without incident."

"I don't know what happened," Dean confessed with a small, one-shouldered shrug. "I was just…I was sleeping, trying to save my energy. I'd just fed Cas and then…then I was here, he was here…" He swallowed. "I don't know what happened."

"We'll figure it out, Dean."

"What do you mean, fed Cas?" Sam asked, piping up for the first time in a while as he looked over at the creature, brow furrowing. Dean immediately went tense, shoulders hunching up, biting his lower lip as he sat back down on the bed and wouldn't look Sam in the eye. "He eats?"

"Of course he does," Dean snapped in reply. "He's…" He trailed off, then, suddenly looking afraid as his gaze snapped up to Sam's. "But he hasn't killed anyone in years, alright? He's not…he's not like his kind. Don't hunt him down. Please."

"We're not going to hunt him down. Sam." Castiel's voice was a warning, as he came forward and placed a hand on the human's shoulder, pulling Sam back just a little. "We mean no harm to your mate, I promise you. We just want to find out what's happening and correct it," the Angel assured the creature, who swallowed, biting his lower lip as he searched Castiel's face – and his Grace – for any signs of deceit, any swirl of black or grey to mark him as a liar.

For a long moment, Dean remained silent, his fingers playing with each other in his lap as he looked between the thing that looked like Sam and the thing that looked like Castiel – _Cas_.

"He's a vampire," he murmured, swallowing and looking down again. "But he's only ever fed off me, and me off him, since we met. I…I eat, and he feeds off me, and then he…well…" He swallowed, flushing slightly in embarrassment. "It works. We don't need anyone else. He hasn't bitten another soul since he mated me."

"A vampire," Sam repeated, running a hand through his hair. "Great. He'll tear the world apart to find his mate again." He turned around, sighing heavily, squeezing the bridge of his nose – he was getting a headache. No sleep and almost constant worry will do that to a person. "No one at the bar remembers seeing Dean – seeing this Dean. And…I mean, there have been no signs here of anything supernatural. At all. So either he's in hiding, or someone sent you here."

Dean frowned, swallowing heavily, and said nothing.

"There is nothing we can do but wait," Castiel said, slowly. "If there is a creature here to find him, or hunt him down, then going out and leaving him will not end well. Neither will you going out alone." He paused. "I shall search the town, for anything I can find, or anyone who might know what is going on. You and Dean must wait here until I return."

"Yeah, Cas," Sam agreed, swallowing and nodding, letting out a breath. "I guess that's the best plan. I'll see if there's been any patterns we missed."

Castiel nodded once more, with one more look towards Dean, who was still watching them, tense and worried-looking, from the bed. "I will return shortly," he said, feeling like he needed to reassure the other creature, silly a notion as that was. But it paid off when Dean's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he smiled slightly up at Castiel, in a way that made the Angel want to smile back.

The real Dean hadn't smiled that way in a long time.

Sighing, Castiel took wing, out of the motel room. Dean blinked.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," he said, which, for some reason, made Sam laugh.

  
  
  
  


Gabriel found Castiel in the blood-red study, once he had induced a sleep into the Hunter to help the final stages of his magic work its way through his system and fix what the initial magic hadn't been able to. Had taken a hell of a lot of convincing to let him do that: must have run into his kind before.

Also took Gabriel a lot to convince Dean to wait at all. Guy had a focus and drive that was kind of scary. He really wanted to get back home, and Gabriel had no idea why – he had seen Dean's life, knew what was going on in it. What was happening that couldn't wait a week or two, or however long it took?

"You could try being less of an ass to guests, you know," he said conversationally, once he had opened the door and closed it behind him, leaning against the pale surface. Aside from a roll of bright blue eyes and a small growl, he got no acknowledgement. "What the hell's up your ass? He won't be here long, and nothing will happen to your mate. I swear on my life."

"You don't get it," Castiel growled, voice almost so low as to make the words unintelligible. Gabriel had to strain to listen.

He sighed. "Then help me understand." Castiel shook his head, and Gabriel sighed again, straightening and walking over to perch on the arm of Castiel's chair. He raised his hand, lacing his hands through the vampire's hair lightly, petting it away from his face as Castiel closed his eyes. "We have been friends for a long time, you and I," Gabriel began, joining in where Castiel's eyes were focused – one of the bookshelves lining the wall. Which book Castiel was gazing at Gabriel had no idea, but he could guess. The one Gabriel himself had given Castiel, about Incubi and other demons of that nature. The one that had taught Castiel everything he needed to know to care for and love Dean the way the creature needed him to. "You can tell me."

"I left him," came the vampire's reply, so soft that Gabriel almost didn't hear it. "I…God, Gabriel. I hadn't eaten in so long, because of the business with the other clans, and it had run on longer than it was supposed to. Almost a week. He was hungry, I was _starving_ and…" The vampire sighed, closing his eyes tightly for a moment, a low, frustrated sound leaving him. "I tried to pull myself back, but you have no idea, Gabriel, the _lust_ …"

"Did you take too much?"

Castiel sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know," he whispered. "As soon as I realized how much I had taken, I ran – slit open my wrist and tried to give him some back, but I couldn't and…and then I ran, to get food for him, but when I came back that _thing_ was in my house and I…" He swallowed. "He could be dead. God knows how long it would have taken him to recover from that, and even if he did, what do Hunters known of his kind?"

He spat the word, snarling softly and baring his upper teeth, before he rubbed a hand across his mouth and turned the chair, forcing Gabriel to stand, and looked up at the other creature. "If anything happens to him, it's on my head too, because I didn't take care of him, and now he's gone."

"The spell wouldn't have worked if there was no life to trade," Gabriel said. "Take heart in that."

Castiel snorted, rolling his eyes again, and turned away. "You didn't even know there would be a trade, Gabriel, do not try and reassure me with pure sentiment. Until I can touch him again I will not believe you." He snarled, lip curling back, eyes flashing with fury and pain. "With that _thing_ in my house, he might as well be dead."

Gabriel swallowed, sighing softly, and moved his hand away from Castiel's head, squeezing the younger creature's shoulder gently, before taking leave of the room. No time for sleep anymore – Dean wanted to be back just as much as Castiel wanted his mate back, and Gabriel would sympathize with that. Knew the pain, the gaping hole that was left behind with a loss of a mate.

After all, that was how this whole damn thing started.  



	4.  Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it was the pseudo-Dean who broke the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

By the time Gabriel had returned to the guest bedroom he had placed Dean in to rest and let his magic finish its job, the Hunter was wide awake. He looked better – there was color back in his face now where it had been pale and clammy from blood loss before, and his eyes were sharp. Ready.

The creature paused when Dean's eyes flashed to his. So cold, and calculating. Gabriel wasn't used to that kind of look coming from those eyes; the Dean in this world was nothing short of a saint, patient and welcoming and loving to any and all. Gabriel supposed he had to be with a ruthless mate like Castiel, but the Dean he knew would never have looked at anyone like that. His mouth would have never twitched with barely restrained ire and disgust before controlling his expression. Never would his scent have stank so much of death and danger.

His eyes raked over Dean. "You can't go outside like this," he said, motioning to Dean's bloodstained clothes and the flush on his neck and cheeks. "Come on, let's play 'Disguise the human'."

Dean's mouth twisted, but he rose on silent feet and followed Gabriel out of the guest bedroom, across the hall and into a large bathroom, which held a giant mirror on one wall, and on the opposite side was a large bath and shower complex, white-tiled and pristine. Barely used.

"Did they just move here?" Dean asked for lack of anything else to say, and he was curious. Vampires, as far as he knew them, were fairly full of wanderlust and unlikely to settle down in one place for any length of time because the food source would either diminish too much or it would draw attention if humans kept dying. Of course, he knew nothing about what the alternate him was, and maybe in this society, since they didn't have Hunters so much, maybe the vampires and other creatures didn't need to worry about making themselves known. Were there even that many humans in this world? Just how much would he stand out if he went out without disguise?

Gabriel nodded, and waved a hand and beside the bathtub appeared a small cabinet, also white so it blended with the rest of the room, with artful scuffs down the side as though someone had tried to make it appear old and well-worn. He motioned Dean to sit down on the closed toilet lid and the Hunter obeyed as Gabriel opened the cabinet and rummaged around inside.

"There have been some disputes amongst the vampire clans up here and, though Castiel is not an Alpha nor close to being one, he does have…a special set of skills that render him valuable when it comes to such disputes."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's a polite way of saying he's a hired gun," he noted.

"I think he prefers the term 'enforcement'. He is only hired by the Councils when a law has been broken." Gabriel paused for a moment, looking up at Dean. "I don't know why I told you that. The other Dean doesn't even know that, I don't think."

The Hunter smiled wryly. "I feel so special," he said, and then gestured towards the cabinet. "What's in there?"

Gabriel smiled a smile that Dean knew meant he was going to hate the answer; "Make-up and perfume. You go outside reeking of human blood and you won't make it too far. And if you get warm and your skin flushes it'll give you away too." He stood up, holding several bottles and what looked like compact make-up kits that Dean recognized from his many ladies of the evening. Girls carried the damned things everywhere. He swallowed.

"Look, I -."

"Dean, it's necessary. You won't be helped if you can't look the part," Gabriel said emphatically, leaving no room for argument. "But first we need clothes for you. I've told Castiel to grab you some since you'll be the same size as your alternate, but I don't know if he'll actually do it. Stubborn son of a bitch." He paused. "I think you two will get on well – you know, after he stops wanting to rip your throat out."

  
  


With Castiel gone from the motel room, Sam found himself at a loss of what to do with the alter-Dean. Sure, the creature had seemed friendly enough, but Sam knew jack-shit about it and definitely didn't trust it enough not to stab him when his back was turned and try and flee. Or feed off him. Or something. Anything that kept company with a vampire was _not_ something he wanted near his throat.

In the end, it was the pseudo-Dean who broke the silence. "So, ah, you're my brother here, are you?"

The question was forced and Sam could tell it was forced, but the thing was trying to make an effort while Castiel was gone and the least he could do was the same. He shrugged one shoulder, settling himself down on one of the chairs by the motel room table, legs stretched out, seemingly relaxed – but there was a gun on the table too and Sam hoped that hadn't gone unnoticed. "Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Dean's my older brother by four years."

"You guys hunt together?" Dean asked, mimicking Sam and settling himself down the motel bed, picking absently at some of the discarded candy bar wrappers. The scene reminded Sam sharply of Gabriel, very suddenly like a lump at the back of his throat, and he swallowed, looking away for a brief moment.

"All my life," Sam replied blandly – he didn't want to talk about hunting with something that had replaced his brother. Granted, he didn't really know what else to talk about either. "So Gabriel and I were mated in your world, huh?"

 _"Are,_ " Dean hissed suddenly, his voice low and insistent and it startled Sam, made him tense up before he could think about it. "You _are_ mated to him. Not _were_. He's not dead and neither are you. That would…" He trailed off, then, swallowing loudly enough that Sam could hear him, and rubbed at his chest, over his heart as though feeling a physical ache there. He didn't say anything else.

Feeling he had struck a nerve, Sam fell silent for a moment too, his fingers drumming on his knees as he tried to think of something to do or say that would occupy them and not mean he had to let his guard down long enough for the think to potentially attack or flee – though in all honesty, unless he was just a very good actor, this thing, whatever it was, seemed like the least aggressive creature Sam had ever met, including children of monsters. This Dean was… _submissive_ , complete with a softer voice and he even sat a different way; smaller, less sprawled out as though unwilling to take up too much space.

"You said your mate is a vampire," he mused, for lack of anything else to say, and he felt the creature's eyes flash to his face, intent, and saw Dean nod out of the corner of his eye. "Are…are we all creatures? What kind of world do you live in?"

Dean's smile grew for a moment and he let out a soft sound, almost like a laugh – Sam had never heard his brother make that kind of sound before. Amusement without the bitter edge to it when it wasn't at someone's expense.

"Well, you're a Skinwalker, for one thing," he said lightly, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, knees drawn up and hands folded between his thighs – it was so _weird_ , seeing something so Dean-like sitting like that, like…well, more like a child than anything else. "You're mated to Gabriel. The two of you live further South than Cas and I do – he likes the cold weather, the snow, you know…" He waved his hand vaguely in the air, a small smile coming to his face, his expression softening as he thought back to his mate, but there was a shadow in his eyes now; sadness, because he knew he wasn't there with Castiel.

"We'll get you back to where you're meant to be," Sam murmured, wanting to reassure the creature because he just looked so Goddamn sad and forlorn, like a puppy tied to a post and left out in the rain; shoulders hunched, knees drawn right up, toes tucked into the folds of the duvet on the bed. It was such a sad sight and also really freakin' disconcerting to Sam; who knew what kind of life Dean might have lived to develop such a different personality? What must his past have been like to be so… _dependant?_

The Dean-lookalike snorted slightly, a small smile turning one corner of his mouth up, and he scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "I just…worry about him."

Sam frowned; what could possibly threaten a vampire in a world full of supernatural creatures?

At his silence, Dean shrugged again. "He's, ah, never been very good about…being separated. We rely on each other a lot."

"Sounds dangerous," Sam noted.

Dean shook his head, sighing heavily and resting his chin on his knees. "It's not," he said, eyes flashing Sam's way for a brief moment, before he smiled. "But you wouldn't understand. You're not…" He paused again, looking towards the door. "That Castiel would, though. He'd get it."

Sam frowned. "Cas? He's not…" He shook his head at Dean's look, trying to think back to the Angel mentioning _anywhere_ that he was attached to someone, or even looking to be attached to someone. The only possible thing Sam could think of was that maybe Castiel _had_ been mated in the past, and maybe it had gone badly. But he'd never said anything like that, certainly not to Sam, so Sam had no idea what the creature was talking about. "He's never said anything about it."

Dean merely smiled. "Of course he hasn't," he said in reply, but refused to elaborate further despite Sam's questioning look. "How did you all meet – Angels and humans?" he asked after another moment.

Sam tilted his head to one side. "That's a long story," he said with a small, slightly bitter smile.

Dean shrugged. "I've got time."

  
  


In the end Castiel did bring Dean some new clothes to wear – clothes that smelled clean and freshly laundered, as though Castiel didn't want their scents mixing, and Dean could get that; he wouldn't want to smell like the vampire's mate either. Who knows what might happen if instinct took over and wires got crossed in his head; Dean knew that feeling, when he was a vampire it had been hard sometimes to forget he even possessed logical reasoning; sometimes there was only instinct.

"Thanks," he said shortly when handed the clothes, and Castiel grunted, turning around and leaving without a word. "He really is pissy, isn't he?"

Gabriel sighed. "You have to understand," he said, fidgeting with some of the make-up bottles he had taken out of the cabinet, "that Castiel isn't…well, he and Dean have been together for years. Way more than that, and they've always been _together_. When Castiel goes away it's for as short a time as possible and they are very dependent on each other – for food, for safety, for everything. Dean was…when they met, Dean wasn't in good shape. At least as far as I know from what they've told me and what I have seen. A vampire's love can be very volatile."

"I can't help but notice that none of this is my fault, though," Dean bit out, figuring out that Gabriel wasn't going to leave the bathroom so he merely pulled off his bloodied overshirt, hiking his t-shirt over his head too. "He should be mad at you, not -."

He stopped talking at the sound of a soft gasp, and looked up after pulling his shirt over his head to find Gabriel looking at him with wide eyes. Or rather, at his branded shoulder, with Castiel's handprint standing out, stark and red, against his skin.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Gabriel demanded, pointing at Dean's shoulder. He sounded almost angry – whether at its presence or at the fact that Dean hadn't told him about it, or that he hadn't sensed it before, Dean couldn't tell. "Who did that?"

"I…" Dean paused again as the bathroom doorway became eclipsed, Castiel's attention having been drawn by Gabriel's outburst, and he swallowed, feeling small under the vampire's intense stare; only Castiel, it seemed, no matter what universe they were in, could look at him like that and make him feel at once both like the most powerful thing in the world and no bigger than an ant under his shoe. "Castiel, the Angel, I guess he burned me when we first met. We, ah, that's the story as I know it anyway. He pulled me out of Hell."

Gabriel and Castiel exchanged a look. "I assume you're not speaking metaphorically," Castiel said after a moment, his voice tight and controlled and giving nothing away.

Dean shook his head.

"Congratulations, Gabriel – you definitely know how to pick them, don't you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, shrugging on the new shirt over his head because he really didn't like how Castiel was looking at him.

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "I had assumed that…because of the glimpses I had caught in your world, that you were unattached," he said, looking over at Dean after a moment with a sincere expression. "I'm sorry, Dean – we'll get you back to your mate as soon as possible, I promise."

"What do you mean, my mate? I am _not_ mated," Dean bit out, his hands clenching a little by his sides. His fingers itched for a weapon and he was well aware that, stood as he was with Gabriel and Castiel flanking either side of him, he was cornered. His heart was starting to beat faster. "Cas and I are just…we're not _together_ like that, okay?"

There was a moment of silence when the three of them merely stared at each other, before Castiel bared his upper teeth and turned away from the bathroom, stalking downstairs again on silent feet without another word. When he disappeared Gabriel seemed to relax, and his shoulders stopped tensing as he guided Dean to sit back down, pulling his kit towards him.

"What's up his ass?" Dean demanded, tense and wary when Gabriel pulled one of the foundation pots towards him. Granted, this hadn't been the first time Dean had had to wear make-up for a job (something he'd rather not talk about because just no), but it was the first time where it was something that was defending his _life_ , not just to help be a little more alluring as bait, and it wasn't another Hunter putting it on him, someone he knew and trusted, but Gabriel instead.

"He just watched his mate's body and heard his mate's voice deny that they were anything to each other," Gabriel murmured as he started applying the first layer. It felt cakey and gross against Dean's skin and he wanted to wash it off immediately, but forced himself to remain still. "He knows it's not really his mate – that you are not really his mate – but imagine someone wearing the face of a man or woman you loved deny that what you had was anything more than a pipe dream. It hurts."

Dean swallowed. He did know how that felt.

"He's an ass, though," he said after a while, and Gabriel snorted on a laugh.

"Yeah, but you're in love with him."

  
  


Castiel reappeared in the room right as Sam was getting to summoning Castiel in Pamela's house. Dean had been listening with rapt attention to every story and, even as Sam felt guilty admitting it to himself, he had to admit that it felt good being able to talk through everything with someone who had absolutely no ability to judge or gratify him in equal measure; this Dean was merely a sponge, listening to the story and taking it all in, his eyes sympathetic as Sam talked about Dean going to Hell, being unable to help him for so long, then Castiel saving him.

"I wish I had been able to heal Pamela before her death. Her bravado did not deserve such severe punishment," Castiel said by way of greeting, handing Dean a bottle of red Gatorade as well as setting down Sam's usual lunch for when they had no real Hunts to go after and were merely searching for the next one; Sam fixed him with a grateful look. He had no idea just how hungry he was until Castiel presented the food.

"She's dead now?" Dean asked, frowning a little. "I'm sorry."

"She died helping us," Sam murmured, unwrapping the plastic bag and opening the see-through contained of salad and tortilla shells with sauce to make vegetarian wraps. "A lot of people have."

"It stains you," Dean said under his breath, too low for Sam to hear, but Castiel's eyes flashed to his and Dean knew it that second that Castiel must be able to see it too. "So," he said more loudly, "did you find anything?"

Castiel shook his head. "Nothing, I am sorry. But I have reason to believe that our answers may lie further North, in the town in which I discovered you. There is a great demon presence there."

"Demons?" Sam asked, looking up, at once alert. "Why?"

Castiel shrugged one shoulder – a motion he had learned from Dean, Sam was sure of it. "I did not want to interrogate them alone; you ask questions I would not think of, Sam. I believed it would be better for all of us to go together. But there are no Gates near them or any area that has been recorded as hosting demons before. It is very strange for them to be there now."

"How far away are they?"

"An hour's drive, maybe less if we hurry."

"Great," Sam said, nodding to himself. "We'll head there, then."  



	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  "You should show some respect, Hunter – you're in our world, now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Castiel had to admit, through the vaguely disconcerting sensation of knowing something was very _wrong_ within his house, his home, his _nest_ , that Gabriel really did know what he was doing, when it came to disguise.

It was no secret that Djinni could cast illusions that would fool even the most jaded and vigilant of creatures who prided themselves on seeing through such deceit, but in this sort of Hunt Gabriel would need to be at his best in concentration, so he couldn't waste his energy on maintaining an illusion over the human when his concentration could break at any moment.

The make-up was the best solution at such short notice. And, truth be told, Castiel hadn't expected it to work. Castiel heard before he saw Gabriel bring the Hunter down – such heavy footsteps, how did he ever sneak around enough for Castiel to have missed him before – into the kitchen, the Hunter immediately placing himself into a corner, back to the wall and close to the sink where there was a wooden block which held several long knives, Castiel knew, their handles black and matted against the chrome tips.

Gabriel had done a fantastic job.

The Hunter – Castiel refused to acknowledge him as anything other than 'The Hunter' – when he came down the stairs, now shared the same subtle paler skin tone that his mate had, and he no longer had a flush on his cheeks and down his neck from either embarrassment or warmth or both. Whatever Gabriel had done to his eyes, they almost glowed now like Dean – the _real_ Dean – 's did, and his lips looked softer, paler somehow there too as all supernatural creatures did. Even under Castiel's sharp gaze, the vampire had to admit that the only reason he saw through it was because he knew what lay underneath; a warm-blooded, hot-headed killer that was the only thing standing between him and his mate. The thing that had no love for his kind and had placed himself towards a weapon, even among supposed allies.

Gabriel was preening a little as he gestured between the Hunter and Castiel. "Well," he asked, breaking the ice when the Hunter and Castiel merely stared at each other, "what do you think?"

It was the Hunter who broke the gaze first, eyes dipping down in a gesture so familiar that for a second Castiel forgot – so Goddamn familiar, but then the shoulders tensed and the eyes hardened and his fingers curled up and Castiel fought the urge to snarl.

"I reel ridiculous," the Hunter muttered to himself, hand twitching like he was fighting the urge to rub the make-up off of his face. "Won't you guys be able to smell this shit anyway?"

Gabriel merely looked amused. "You'd be surprised," he replied cryptically, before jerking his head towards the Hunter, eyes flashing to Castiel. "Go on, your senses are better than mine."

Castiel blinked at his long-time friend, upper lip curling back just a little. "He's fine," he muttered sharply, tone holding no room for discussion.

Gabriel rolled his eyes – the creature never had that good of a sense of preservation. "Come on, Cas, I gotta know what our perimeter is. Take a whiff."

"I'd really rather not, Gabriel," the vampire hissed.

It was then that the Hunter understood, and his artificially glowing eyes widened. He took a step back – at least that one had a little bit of instinct in him. "I don't think that's -."

"If there's anyone that'll be able to sniff you out, it'll be Cas," Gabriel interrupted, holding his hand up to silence the Hunter. "I need to know just how good a job I've done, or you're going to die. So if _Cas_ can _please_ get the stick outta his ass for two seconds we can get this over with and move on."

"Gabriel -."

"Dude," the Hunter interrupted with a cut-off sigh, waving his hand when Castiel fixed icy eyes on him. "Just…come on."

"You don't understand," Castiel hissed again, folding his arms in front of him, fingers clenching tightly into the material of his shirt as it bunched around his elbows. For a moment Dean had to blink, biting his lower lip as he looked the vampire over – he hadn't seen someone with that face be so emotive for a long time.

But Dean did. He knew – the urge to slide close, feel the warmth of something hot and thrumming and _alive_ under his touch, to part his jaws and sink his teeth in and never let go until there was nothing left. Until the last gasp had briefly warmed the flesh of his neck and the nails stopped digging so deep. Until there was nothing but the slow burn of metal whiskey in his mouth.

He drew his lower lip into his mouth again, biting down hard as he steeled himself, and took a deep breath. This was playing with fire, he knew, felt it when his heart started to pick up speed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he slowly forced his shoulders to relax, and ducked his head to one side, displaying the pale arch of his throat to the vampire's hard, fervent gaze.

Castiel couldn't help himself – even though his body was still warm and heavy from feeding from his mate only the night before, the call of human blood had always been and would always be something he could not simply ignore. It was why Dean and he had chosen this place, out of all the places in America to settle – somewhere almost too cold for humans to live comfortably, and even if they did the ice managed to freeze their blood enough that their scent didn't bother him too much when he was outside with them. Humans were so rare nowadays anyway, like a fine wine aged too long for Castiel to count.

He was a foot away from the Hunter before he could think about it, lightning speed making the Hunter tense up slightly, a tightness to his mouth and a sharpness to his eyes that meant he was ready for it, forcing himself to remain still as Castiel stepped even closer, let his eyes close as he tilted his head just slightly and inhaled the scent coming off of the Hunter – the powdery, slightly chemical smell of the make-up did very little to cover up the thrum of blood underneath, the siren call of oxygen-rich blood, heady with endorphins and adrenaline – the scent of a killer.

"I can smell him here," Castiel whispered, not sure whether he was merely stating a fact or whispering something dark and needing, something he had denied himself since finding his mate, since Dean had become his any and all.

"Anything gets that close," he heard the Hunter mutter, a voice so achingly familiar but _wrong_ in all the important ways – too low, and rough from too many cigarette-infused bars and scraped raw with whiskey and moonshine. "It won't matter."

Castiel's eyes flew open in shock at the bite of cold metal against his throat, and he looked up to find the Hunter's falsely glowing eyes staring right back into his, mouth a tight line and he leaned back, and the Hunter followed him, hand tightly gripping one of the long knives from the kitchen, pressed between the line of his forearm and the vampire's throat. He was pressing just light enough for Castiel to feel it, to warn, body language braced and ready for the hypothetical attack.

"I could have ripped you to shreds," Castiel whispered once the Hunter lowered the knife, twisting it around and slipping it into the back of his jeans, tucked into his belt.

"Yeah," the Hunter muttered with a roll of his shoulders, slight smirk on his face that meant he knew Castiel was right, but; "And I could have cut your head off. We'll never know, will we?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "You should show some respect, Hunter – you're in our world, now."

"You know, last time someone told me that I managed to turn _their_ world upside-down. So let's put down the rulers and get this show on the road, okay?"

Castiel growl was just barely covered up by Gabriel bursting into laughter.

  
  
  
  


_"Cas?"_

_"Hush, beloved. I'm here, now."_

_Dean smiled, relaxing into the warm comfort of his mate as he felt the vampire slide into bed behind him, turning around to look his mate in the eyes. Castiel's hair was wet, damp and fluffy from his shower, and he smelled clean, and vaguely like soap, and Dean ducked his head and snuggled in close, pressing his nose to the vampire's throat like he knew Castiel only allowed him to do. He felt the vampire's strong arms encircle him, pulling him close, with the fingers of one hand running through his hair._

_"I missed you," he whispered, nuzzling in close and clutching back just as tightly – even though Castiel had to leave quite frequently, Dean hated it every single time, hated having to wait and not knowing if his mate would even come home. He knew that he would be able to feel Castiel's death, if it ever happened, so he didn't fear not knowing when it_ did _– it was the_ waiting _he couldn't stand._

_The vampire merely hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to his mate's forehead, soft smile pressed against Dean's skin. "I missed you too, beloved," he whispered, pulling away so that he could slide down and look his mate in the eye – those beautiful, expressive green eyes; one look was all it had taken for Castiel to fall in love._

_Dean looked over his mate's face, taking in his chapped lips, paler-than-normal skin, and the dark circles around his eyes, and with a small smile, took a deep breath, tilting his head to one side to expose his throat. He knew he would have to eat afterwards, but Castiel had been gone for almost four days and he had to be thirsty._

_At once the vampire's eyes darkened, pupils growing wide to eclipse the blue in his eye. "May I?" he asked, as he always did, one palm flattening lightly over Dean's thrumming pulse, stroking his thumb over the sharp jut of his mate's jaw, tilting him further._

_And Dean smiled, as he always did; "Of course."_

_It was an intimate connection, having Castiel feed from him like this, when the vampire would kiss at his favorite spot on Dean's neck – the soft inch or so of flesh between his throat and his collarbone, not too invasive and not too painful for his beloved mate – and suck lightly at his skin until blood flushed underneath, happily leaping to the surface for the vampire, Dean's heart speeding up a little to invite Castiel to bite and drink. The vampire allowed himself one more teasing pull at Dean's skin, the flesh sucked between harmless human teeth, before his second set slid free and he pierced Dean's skin, jaws clamping down and holding fast._

_It hurt – of course it hurt, had Dean's body tensing up in pain and a soft, hurt yelp spilling from his mouth, but Castiel could not be stopped now; the burn in his throat was finally being sated by his willing mate, and he moved his hand from Dean's neck to flatten over his mate's heaving chest, damp with sweat now from the pain, and in it Dean felt the unspoken 'I love you' – in the desperate grab of his hand in Castiel's hair the vampire felt the answering 'I love you, too'._

_He could not take too much – certainly not as much as he would like – because within a few seconds Dean's heartbeat was slowing down and he knew Dean would need to eat soon, and so he gently pulled his teeth away, replacing the sharp sting with gentle laps of his tongue, doing little more than smearing the spilled blood around Dean's skin and across his mouth. Dean's hands were shaking when they caught Castiel's head between them and pulled the vampire into a kiss._

_The vampire eagerly returned the kiss, careful to keep it chaste because he couldn't risk cutting his mate's mouth with his second set of teeth until they retracted, and settled for merely feeling the warm press of Dean's lips against his, as his hands gently spread Dean's thighs so that he could settle between them. He wouldn't be able to feed Dean that way – not with his mate so hungry that he wouldn't tell Castiel if he was in pain, and not with the vampire still in feeding mode. No – too dangerous and he would_ never _hurt Dean in that way. Ever._

_"Cas," Dean whispered, the word just a little too slurred for the vampire's liking. Dean was spreading his legs eagerly but Castiel wouldn't do that._

_"What do you need?" the vampire replied, kissing Dean again, the small dimple in his cheek when he smiled, down his jaw, arching into the soft strokes of Dean's hands through his hair. "I've brought home Gatorade. And ice cream. And grapes. Which would you like?"_

_His mate pondered for a moment. "Gatorade," he replied, and Castiel stood, nodding eagerly as he rushed to get his mate something to drink, sugar for him so that he wouldn't wake up again in a frenzy – then, who knows what he would do, and how far he would push to get what he wanted._  
  
  
  


Castiel pulled out of listening to Dean dream.

The hour's drive had turned into several due to a severe traffic accident that had, according to Castiel's report, sent three souls up to Heaven (one to Hell, but he didn't mention that) and had clogged the main route to their Northern destination by up to seventy miles. Sam had had to take back routes to get there and they were still driving.

Dean had fallen asleep in the back of the car.

When an Angel slipped into someone's subconscious, depending on how they dreamed, it was a different experience – it had happened entirely by accident as well. Castiel was simply used to watching over Dean's dreams, to keep Hell at bay. It had been force of habit.

This Dean dreamed in narration. It was different to the Dean Castiel knew, which should have tipped the Angel off that he was invading foreign headspace, but instead he had been overcome with curiosity, and stayed.

He felt uncomfortable about it now. The dream had been intimate, very intimate, something he knew he should not have witnessed. But it had been informative also – clearly this mate of his was not merely a vampire brute that would beat his mate into submission; Dean had not been coerced into a relationship with this creature, unless the influence ran so deep that even his subconscious believed it.

But Dean dreamed in narration – along with the visual, Castiel had managed to see that world through Dean's eyes; felt the love and adoration in the dream-vampire-version of his touches, experienced the safety and security that this Dean felt in his mate's arms. Knew that nothing would happen to Dean if Castiel was around.

The scene had been strangely poignant, and stirred something inside of Castiel that he could not give a name to. Or didn't want to give a name to.

Envy, perhaps. Maybe longing.

He had never lied to himself about his attachment to Dean – his superiors had made sure of that and, when their warnings made him ignore them, the world around them seemed to enjoy throwing it into his face – and if that had been any less, there was the mark he had branded into Dean's skin, reminding the world that he was joined to Dean by something deeper than blood or life or souls and Grace; something that can only be borne out of pure Hell.

But that kind of connection was dangerous and, most importantly, one-sided. Castiel would never force that on someone, especially Dean. Maybe it was because of that bond that he felt that way, but regardless, that was the way things would stand.

But these creatures – these cursed, damned creatures – could have something that an Angel could not share with the chosen Righteous Man of Heaven. It was unfair, it was cruel, but it was fact. There was a world where Castiel could love and adore Dean the way he desired, but it was not this world.

"Why demons?" Sam's voice broke Castiel out of his thoughts, and the Angel blinked, found the Hunter frowning forward, eyes squinting to see past the Impala's headlights as the road slowly melted into their sight and then behind to disappear again. "We’ve met loads of demons and not once have they talked about other worlds. Djinni, yes, faeries, maybe, but demons?"

"Demons specialize in the art of creating worlds designed to taunt and torture," Castiel murmured in reply, swallowing hard as the truth of his own statement struck him. "I would not put it past them to concoct an elaborate design such as this – a world where both you and your brother are happily mated, taken care of. Perhaps they mean to inspire jealousy…who knows why, Sam, demons hardly need a why."

His words were bitter and he knew he sounded angry, but if Sam noticed then he said nothing. "Something else has been bothering me," he said instead of addressing Castiel's bitterness; "Vampires take mates, I know, I get that, but…I mean, when we found him…he was _torn up_ , Cas. If a vampire's mate had _ever_ been hurt like that then I know from experience what the vamp would do. How did that happen to him?"

The narration in the dream hit Castiel again – he spoke without thinking; "His mate only relies on his blood to feed. Perhaps they were separated too long, and instinct overcame him." Sam's eyes flashed to him, barely visible in the glow of the dashboard lights, even to Castiel's heightened sight. "No matter how in love you are with someone, Sam, you can always hurt them. Always. Instinct is instinct."

Sam sighed. "I get it, I guess," he said. And he did. "We just…we know nothing about this, Cas. I don't like going in blind."

"I'm sorry I cannot be of more help to you, Sam."

"I just feel like Dean would be better at this kind of thing that I am. He was always good at tracking me down. I…well, I never really had to."

Castiel smiled, a very little, but it was sad.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because after I get Sam back, I want that son of a bitch dead. I want him to burn, and to rot, and to never see or sense his miserable slime-ball soul on this Earth ever again." Finally, something they could agree on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean stirred awake at the sound of the white noise of their black car's growling engine being cut off, blinking sleepily and rubbing his hand over his mouth to try and wipe away the cottonmouth feeling coating the inside. His throat felt dry, hunger simmering underneath his skin like water brought to heat, his fingers curling when he scented the power of the Angel and strong soul he was sharing space with.

His hand flexed. Tempting.

Castiel – or, at least, the Angel that looked like Castiel but was really so different – turned to look at him, this unreadable emotion in his eyes and the bright light that shone within him was tinged a pale, melancholy blue. "We have arrived, Dean," he said, just enough of a catch in his voice at the name that Dean broke the gaze, looking down, and pushed himself out of the car.

They had pulled up to the end of a long, dark driveway that looked too overgrown for the car to keep driving through – perhaps why Sam had stopped it, Dean assumed. He followed the dark, fading path up onto the crest of a small hill with his eyes, spying the carcass of an old, dilapidated building that looked like it used to be a church or town hall – there was a spire sticking out of the top and the windows were tall and evenly spaced along the sides, allowing the faint lights of candles to flicker through. Dean pressed his lips together, shifting in uneasiness, and for lack of anything else to do, followed Castiel as he walked to the back of the car where Sam was stood.

The Hunter's face was businesslike, but his speech was slow; "You ever used a weapon before?" he asked, this look in his eyes like he half-expected Dean to say 'yes' and reach out for the biggest gun Sam could hand him.

The creature pressed his lips together, scuffing one of his bare feet, and shook his head. "No. I, ah…I don't really fight a lot." He paused. "Ever."

Sam nodded, blowing out a breath, and unlocked and lifted the trunk of the car. Dean's eyes widened, seeing the mass of guns, knives, and bags of what he could only assume were other harmful implements lining the inside. He felt a small shiver run down his spine, the silver flicking over his eyes as he gazed at the hoard, an involuntary curl coming to his lips in a snarl as he spied the silver knives on the far left, the bullets laced with rock salt in the middle.

"Sam," Castiel murmured as the Hunter propped open the trunk with a sawed-off, rustling around and pulling out a short, jagged-edged knife with strange markings and a deer-horn handle, tucking it into his jacket. "He needs a weapon."

Sam seemed to hesitate, then, his eyes flashing up to the familiar green eyes of his brother – or rather, the thing that looked like his brother. His eyes glowed and seemed reflective even if there was barely any light for them to reflect off of. The human's innate prey-animal instinct made a shiver go down his spine, because he knew he was in the presence of a predator. Sighing, he took the knife back out of his jacket and handed it to the pseudo-Dean, handle first.

"Try not to get yourself killed," was all he said, pulling out another knife and stashing it in the back of his belt, and taking out a handgun as well, briefly checking to make sure it was fully loaded before clicking the barrel back into place. "And that knife kills demons, won't just hurt them. Let's try and take one of these bastards alive."

Dean grimaced at the feeling of the blade, worn smooth, obviously well used and well loved, and curled his fingers too tight around the handle, unwilling to let it slip. "Take one of them alive?" he repeated, looking to Castiel in the hopes of seeing the Angel in disagreement with Sam, but Castiel had this closed-lipped, tense look on his face that Dean would recognize no matter who his mate was. "What are we going to do to them?"

Sam looked at him like he was the crazy one. "Dean," he said, stretching the name out like he couldn't quite bring himself to call the creature that. "They're demons, and they might know something. We'll do whatever we have to."

Dean's eyes widened. "They're _people!"_ he hissed, stabbing the knife in Sam's direction on instinct, and backing himself so that he was between the Angel, the Hunter and the road. "You can't just go in there and start killing _people,_ Sam. Just because they're not _human_ or _Angels_ doesn't mean you have the right to start slaughtering them!"

And Sam and Castiel were just looking at him, like he had lost his fucking mind, like he was the crazy one for not wanting to go in hotheaded, guns cocked and ready for a fight. Dean bared his teeth in a small snarl, eyes flashing silver, and tried to remember how far away the church was on the top of the hill. If he ran fast enough, gave a big enough distraction, he could outrun them – warn the demons before Sam got to them.

"Dean." Castiel's voice – low, rough, like someone was scraping the inside of his vocal chords, so different to the softer, gentler voice of his mate – broke him of his mental calculations and the creature flashed wary, silver-tinged eyes to the Angel. "Don't."

His fingers tightened around the handle of the blade when Castiel stepped forward, low snarl rumbling from behind his clenched teeth. But his hand was shaking, instinct and familiar desire to submit to his mate overwhelming his desire to defend the lives of other creatures. Those blue eyes looked almost the same with the silver filter over his own vision – glowing, so bright, so blindingly, beautifully bright and Dean finally had to duck his gaze away, when Castiel stepped close enough that the tip of the knife was pressing against his stomach.

The Angel's expression was soft, almost sympathetic when he slowly reached his hand up to wrap long fingers around Dean's wrist, forcing the knife down. "Don't," he whispered again, stepping closer, letting the creature soak in the power flowing out of him like a cool drink of water to the parched throat, and Dean swallowed, blowing out a loud breath, eyes closing.

"They're _people_ , Cas," he whispered, sounding young and small, and the Angel turned to look over his shoulder at Sam. The Hunter shook his head, shrugging helplessly, mouth open in shock. He had no idea what to do, or say, to appease this Dean – this Dean, who thought so differently to his brother that it was starting to give Sam a major headache.

Dean would have never turned a knife on him. Or Cas.

The Angel's shoulders slumped a little at the lack of direction from Sam, and he turned back to see the creature watching him with guarded eyes. Castiel tilted his head, his gaze raking over Dean in a way that made the creature want to curl up into a ball, protect his belly and his neck from the stare of a creature so much more powerful than him, and he flinched when Castiel raised his hand again, this time to gently rest his warm palm against Dean's face, just for a moment.

Then, he let his hand drop, and the tenderness and softness was gone. "You can wait in the car, if the thought distresses you," Castiel said, blinking eyes that had flattened to the surface of an undisturbed mountain lake – deep and dark and crystal clear. "But Sam and I will find the answers to why you are here. The only result I can accept is that you and Dean are switched back to where you both belong."

Dean didn't miss the subtle, knowing look Sam sent to the back of Castiel's head, and he pressed his lips together, eyes darting down to the center of Castiel's chest, where his Grace was pulsing – blinding white and warm and strong, with that one loose tendril, reaching out, fading away into nothingness as though it was tied to something but stretched too thin to be visible after a certain amount of space – he was tied to someone, someone who was very far away.

Dean had had his suspicions about who it was, and he wondered why on Earth it wasn't stronger when they obviously spent so much time together.

Finally, he took a deep breath, thrusting the blade back out for either Sam or Castiel to take, handle angled towards them. "I will not take part in this racist bloodbath," he hissed through clenched teeth, only relaxing when Sam finally stepped forward to take the weapon from him. "For the sake of your soul, I hope there aren't too many in there."

And Castiel turned his head away, this small smile on his face like he was fighting the urge to laugh. "Wait in the car, then," Sam said, finally stepping forward to take the lead. "We'll, ah, come get you when it's done."

Dean nodded, sliding back into the warm leather seat in the back, his eyes fixed pointedly on the church in front of them, and he didn't say another word, merely watching as Sam and Castiel began the long trek up the hill and into the massacre.

  
  
  


  
  


"I feel ridiculous," Dean muttered under his breath, as Castiel and Gabriel – well, he didn't want to use the word but it was really the only applicable one – _escorted_ him down the pathway that sectioned off Castiel's front lawn, snow easily hiding half of his boots as they crunched into the soft, flaky powder. Gabriel and Castiel walked either side of him, bare-footed, wearing little more than a t-shirt and jeans while Dean was freezing his ass off in at least two more layers than that. "Aren't people gonna be able to smell the make-up, and whatever?"

Gabriel did his best to hide a smile. "I looked into your world. Some people are into the whole vampire and werewolf -."

"Highly inaccurate vampire and werewolf crap," Castiel interrupted smoothly, stepping ahead and lead the way out of the lawn's front gate and into the main street, the sidewalk barely touched with footprints and the snow at least deep enough to reach half-way up Dean's shin.

"Into that sort of thing," Gabriel continued with a wave of his hand, hardly missing a beat. Dean shuddered and nodded, remembering his and Sam's stint with the Twihard freaks and did his best to erase the image of that twink covered in body glitter from his head – as well as the other memories and sensations he had experienced in lieu of that particular Hunt, yeah, he didn't want to dwell on vampirism or the fetishes therein. "Well, here, it's kind of the other way around."

Dean raised an eyebrow, unable to stop his smirk. "Seriously?"

"Innocence and mortality are very…alluring traits to us," Castiel replied, turning around and looking Dean in the eye with a matching smirk – something cocky and dark that made Dean want to straighten his shoulders and lift his chin in defiance upon looking at it. "Surely you would know what that feels like, Dean. You're a killer yourself."

Dean's lips thinned out, his eyes narrowed. "I don't kill innocents," he snapped.

And to that, Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

"Alright, boys, put the rulers away," Gabriel said, waving his hands between them and forcibly planting himself between the angered Hunter and the smug vampire, forcing them to part. "Now, we're looking for a demon named Crowley."

Dean paused, blinking and looking down at the smaller man. " _Crowley?_ " he repeated, disbelieving. Huh - so apparently dickheads were parallel-universal. Go figure. "You're fucking – _Crowley_?"

"I take it you know him."

"That dick's managed to screw me and my brother over more times than I can count," Dean snapped, licking his lips and rubbing a hand over his mouth. It almost surprised him, just how much hate and anger that name could still conjure in him, especially after…well. After. "Why are we after him?"

"He's the one I made a deal with," Gabriel answered slowly.

That made Dean pause, and he stopped in his tracks where they had continued to walk down the pavement, forcing both creatures to turn around. "Hold up," Dean said, raising one whited-out hand, the cold started to seep into his skin and making him shiver; they hadn't been able to find him gloves. "You made a deal with _Crowley?_ "

Gabriel had no answer to that – he merely looked down, unable or unwilling to meet Dean's eyes.

The Hunter straightened, a dreadful conclusion forming in his mind. "Was the collateral Sam's soul?" he asked, voice low, deadly, like the growl of a jungle cat about to pounce upon its kill. Gabriel sensed it too, blue flush on his skin making tribal markings stand out for the briefest moment as he prepared himself for an attack. "God damn it, answer me!"

"Yes, alright?" Gabriel snapped back, eyes flashing a deep blue when he looked up at Dean, shoulders tensed and rolled forward to protect his neck. "But I knew I could pay it back in time – Crowley came early. He _took Sam early._ "

"What did you bargain for?" Dean asked, taking another step forwards. His fingers itched for a weapon, but Gabriel and Castiel had taken all of them away from him, thinking him less of a danger that way. How wrong they were – he didn't need knives or guns to get his point across, and his fingers curled into themselves, nails biting into his palm to stop himself throwing punches before he got his answer.

"Dean -."

"What," Dean hissed out, refusing to look away from the creature's eyes, even though it had been Castiel to speak. Gabriel pressed his lips together and Dean could see that he wasn't going to answer – not right now. Whatever it was that was keeping him silent, though, was also making Dean feel less and less inclined to help him, no matter what that meant for his own situation or Sam's.

He didn't like people trying to keep half the truth away from him. It always ended messy.

"Dean, stop," Castiel said, this time more sharply, his hand digging into Dean's arm hard enough that the Hunter was forced to move his attention to the agitated vampire, but Castiel's eyes weren't on him – they were focused upward, into the window of another house across the street, and Dean didn't look up in time to see a face but he could swear the curtains were twitched back into place as soon as he moved his head. He immediately went tense, lips thinning out. "Your elevated heartbeat and anger make you noticeable. If you cannot control your emotions you will have no hope of blending in, even with Gabriel's disguise."

And Dean wanted to scoff at that – fuck the disguise, they were in a world of monsters and out for Crowley's blood, he could take them all – but he forced himself to calm under the vampire's touch, even if it was too cold even through all his layers and his very being shuddered with the wrongness of something so familiar and so different at the same time touching him. Almost as if sensing that shift in Dean, Castiel immediately let go, his eyes focused on some part of Dean that the Hunter knew his eyes wouldn't be able to see.

"The fuck kind of neighbors do you have, Cas-tiel?" he muttered, straightening his thick winter coat on his shoulders and wincing at the unusual length of Castiel's name rolling off his tongue – but he remembered the vampire's initial reaction on calling him 'Cas' and he didn't really want to be punched again, or stabbed, thanks.

The vampire rolled his eyes, turning away from Dean again while Gabriel ushered him from behind so they were all walking once more. "Powerful and nosey ones," he replied. "The worst kind."

"Powerful and nosey as in ally or enemy?" Dean couldn't help but ask, smiling a little when Castiel looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Man in your line of work, bound to have a few pairs of eyes on you from all directions," Dean replied with a one-shouldered shrug, earning Gabriel a glare from Castiel.

"You told him," the creature accused.

Gabriel merely shrugged. "He's not your Dean," he said in reply, "who's he gonna tell?"

Castiel merely hissed at that, nose crinkling up, teeth bared and Dean fought the smile back as he could even picture little ears flattening to his head – he looked very feline, that motion, graceful movement like a cat, even when he growled…if werewolves were the dogs vampires were most certainly the cats. In the end, though, Castiel subsided and continued to walk, Gabriel bringing up the rear leaving Dean the very uncomfortable filling in a weird-as-fuck sandwich.

"Do we know where Crowley is?" he asked, for lack of anything else to say.

And Gabriel's mouth twisted. "I have a few ideas. But first we need to do some research and that," he clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder – the unmarked one, the Hunter noticed, "my good man, is one of the reasons I've summoned you hear. We need a Hunter taking point."

"Why?"

The Djinn's eyes went flat, glowing darkly. "Because after I get Sam back, I want that son of a bitch dead. I want him to burn, and to rot, and to never see or sense his miserable slime-ball soul on this Earth ever again."

Dean snorted. Finally, something they could agree on.

  
  
  
  
  


This was taking too long.

Dean shifted restlessly in the seat, biting his lip and resisting the urge to turn on the car to check the time, make sure it hadn't really stuck in place like he felt like it was. His fingers drummed on his thigh as he looked up once more to the abandoned church. The lights on the inside hadn't changed, but every now and again he could see the bright flare of power from within – he didn't know what it meant, didn't understand but felt the power thrumming through the ground, spreading outwards like someone was sending out tiny bombs within the church.

It was making him shiver with hunger.

But it was taking too long – surely with the barely-caged power contained within Castiel, he would be able to wipe out even a throng of demons with nothing more than a thought. The brief and intermittent flares of light were the same color as Castiel's inner power, but that could either mean he was exerting it, or someone was drawing it out of him.

What if he was in trouble? What if Sam and Castiel were both in trouble and there had been too many of them and he was just sitting here with his thumbs up his ass like some kind of ditchable prom date?

He pressed his lips together, eyes flashing to the rear-view mirror. The road was dead – had been for at least fifteen minutes. They were almost completely alone out here, and if Sam or Castiel needed help and he was just sitting here, well, fuck, there was no way he'd live that down. And he needed them, needed to get back home to Cas and Gabriel and Sam and just _be where he needed to be._ Back where the world wasn't so dark and Hunters were just a story you told to your children at night.

Silently he pushed the back door of the big black car open, slinking around to the trunk and testing it. It clicked open easily as though it recognized the touch of his hand, revealing the impressive and intimidating weaponry beneath. He felt another shiver down his spine, eyeing the silver lining one side, salt on the other. He deliberately avoided the silver items, gingerly pushing away some of the hex bags that pulsed with power to reach one long-barreled shotgun, reaching into the box of salt rounds as well. He had never handled a weapon but he knew enough about guns to figure out how to load the weapon, hearing the satisfying click when he jerked the gun back to lock in place.

He rolled his shoulders, looking back up to the church and snapping the trunk closed. The trek was a long way and the long grasses seemed to reach up and try and claw at him, keeping him back, slowing him down, and by the time he reached the crest of the hill he was breathing hard and wiping sweat from his brow.

It was too fucking warm down here.

He paused when he reached the side of the church, taking a moment to gather himself and think about this logically. This church was old, stone corners made of heightening steps until they pillared out up to the roof, and while the windows were high, he knew if he climbed up one of the corners, he could be able to peer inside through one that had broken glass and get a decent look.

Nodding to himself, he breathed deep and headed to the further corner from where he had climbed, hauling himself up onto the highest step on the pillar. It was well-worn and slippery under his feet but he managed to keep hold, even with one hand still holding the gun, and braced himself by wrapping his free hand around the pillar, leaning across to look through the window.

He couldn't see much – merely an old stone altar lit with a large number of candles, and in front of that he could see Sam pacing, clearly not under threat but by no means relaxed either. Behind Sam stood an unfamiliar woman and Dean's eyes narrowed when he saw the darkness of her roiling soul. A demon. One that wasn't attacking. Why? What was keeping it – her – at bay?

Sam's mouth moved, he was speaking, but Dean could not hear him, and at the same time the woman's eyes suddenly rose up, snapping to Dean's face more quickly than he could react to, and the creature could not flinch away from the window fast enough to stop her seeing him. Fuck. _Fuck_. He cursed himself for his carelessness, dropping down to the ground and trying to decide in that split second of being airborne whether he should run or charge in to help Sam and Castiel.

The choice was taken away from him. When he straightened he was surrounded by three demons, their eyes blackened out, faces stony, hands clasped in front of them. Dean's grip tightened around his gun and he snarled in instinct, but he knew he would not be able to raise it and fire – they were standing too close.

"Well, if it isn't Dean Winchester."

"The Angels' bitch."

Dean snarled, eyes flashing a dark silver color as he allowed instinct and the natural fight-or-flight instinct to overcome him. He could not fire the gun – he knew this. Instead, he let his grip drop to the very end of the handle, and raised the gun to swing. One of the demons parried it, knocking it out of his hands and stepped forward. All of them did, and Dean didn't have time to react. Their souls pulsed with life, if not light, and he reached out to one of them, grabbing his wrist and holding on tight.

He twisted his hand, feeling bone snap under his hand and the demon cried out in pain. Then, it made no other sound. Dean had no time for finesse, and he reached for the demon's essence and yanked, snuffed it out like a weak candle flame and the empty meat suit slumped to the ground without another sound. Dean was on the second before it could react, leaving the third to throw its head back, escaping the vessel with a loud scream until Dean was left, panting, with three bodies lying around him.

He felt dizzy. He hadn't used his power like that in a very long time, and the strain was taxing on his body. He knew that if Castiel had been there, he would not have hesitated to offer his neck to Dean, or spread Dean's legs and take him right here over their fresh, still-warm bodies to feed his mate, but Castiel was not here, could not -.

Dean breathed deep, raising his head when he heard the church doors fly open on creaking hinges, Sam and Castiel rushing out as though they had heard the commotion. There was blood on Castiel's temple and Sam's cheek was darkening in a bruise but they looked largely unharmed.

The Angel's blood glowed as though laced with sunlight and Dean knew his eyes had turned a dark silver color – hungry, hunting. Through this limited but so much sharper vision, Castiel looked…looked like Castiel. Pulsing with power, with light, hunger around the edges of his eyes letting him forget what he knew to be true – that this was not his mate, that this Angel belonged to another and he belonged to another but.

But he…

"…Dean?" That was Sam's voice, grating, distracting Dean from the sight of his kill, his prey animal, standing still and almost waiting for his approach. "Dean, what the Hell happened? Are you alright?"

"Sam," Castiel whispered, tilting his head just slightly to look at the Hunter, afraid to take his eyes off of Dean. "Sam, I think you need to go back inside."

"What -?" But Castiel was already extending his power, forcing Sam back towards the door – three of the demons had left, leaving only the female trapped within the Devil's Trap. Sam would be safe in there, a Hell of a lot safer than he was out here.

"Sam, go!" Castiel ordered, just as Dean growled, reacting to the strength of Castiel's raised voice, lowering himself to the ground in an almost attack stance, and Sam backed away from the snarling creature, towards the church but didn't dare go all the way inside, just in case Dean did attack and Castiel needed Sam's help – how he could help, he had no idea, but he had to believe that he could.

The Angel took a step forward, Dean's growling quieting slightly, his eyes sharp and alert and focused only on Castiel. The Angel summoned his blade, recognizing an animal hunger when he saw it – Dean needed power, something that not only food could give him. And from the way Dean's eyes were flashing to the wet drip of blood on his forehead and cheek, Castiel could guess what he needed to sate that thirst.

He took a deep breath, not taking his eyes from Dean, and rolled the sleeve of his trench coat up, exposing the skin beneath, and laid the blade to his forearm, opening his skin with one methodical, clean cut.

Blood welled up, hot and thick, and Dean let out a sound Castiel had never heard anyone, animal or monster or human, make before. Something that sounded broken, and the creature curled his fingers into his palms, looking like he was trying to fight back, like he was disappointed and afraid and _hateful_ of Castiel's offering.

"Dean," the Angel whispered, calling the thing's attention to his face, and he could hear the click in Dean's throat as he swallowed. "Drink."

Dean's gaze moved back to the red stain on Castiel's arm, and he licked his lips, swaying forward as though pulled towards the cut, the lifeblood, rich with the power and life Dean needed to survive, but he held himself back, just barely, because this wasn't his mate and he couldn't drink from anyone other than his mate – it was wrong, it was sinful and Castiel would never forgive him and -.

"Dean."

He was so _hungry._

"Drink. Please."

He closed his eyes, breathing deep – the air stank of the Angel's power and it was making him tremble. God, he needed to resist, needed to be strong until he could get back to his mate, before he hurt someone.

Could he hurt an Angel of the Lord?

"Dean."

When he opened his eyes again, Castiel was there, standing too close, his throat exposed, head tilted to one side through whether that was for invitation or not Dean couldn't tell. He felt shaky, weak, drunk on the promise of being fed and his body burned with yearning for his mate, and this thing looked and sounded and _smelled_ so much like the potent, powerful vampire and Dean wanted more than anything to cling to him, to press his mouth to the tanned skin and drink and forget, pretend for a while that he was with Castiel and he had just been gone for a while but he was home and he wasn't going to leave.

"Cas," he whispered, trying to look anywhere but the Angel's face, his exposed throat, his bleeding arm. His fingers were trembling when he lifted them to the Angel's wrist, closing too tightly, able to feel the grind of bones together under his touch but Castiel didn't even flinch. "Can I?"

Castiel swallowed, his mind flashing back to the dream he had encroached on. Clearly this was a ritual for them, something that spanned across their many years together and was important to Dean.

Perhaps he could pretend as well, just for a moment. Clearly it was tearing the creature apart.

He wrapped a hand around the back of Dean's head, fingers lacing through the soft hair he had been aching for years to touch, and pulled him close, breathing in the scent of leather and otherness that marked Dean as not his own, but it was close enough. For now.

"Of course you can," he whispered, words echoing with memory and Dean seemed to sag in his arms. "Drink, beloved."

And Dean made that soft, wounded sound again, lifting Castiel's wrist to his mouth, and the Angel closed his eyes, allowing the creature to draw from him, lips sealed tight around the cut, tongue probing to draw more of the blood out when it didn't pump into his mouth fast enough. Dean drank like a man dying of thirst, his entire body trembling and cold and he pressed to Castiel for warmth, cold sweat breaking out along his brow.

Castiel held him throat it, soothing his shaking body even when Dean dropped to his knees, the Angel following him – quick reflexes allowing him to – and crouching down in defense around the creature's body, face pressed to his shoulder as he allowed Dean to drink his fill. He took a lot; clearly he had been hungry for a while.

And if Dean's entire being leapt with desire and love, well, Castiel tried not to look too closely, tried not to linger too long on knowing that he could have that – what this damned creature had, it could be his, if only he would claim Dean the way his Grace ached for.

But he wouldn't do that.

And so he stroked through the creature's hair and listened to his soft, pained moans, and allowed him to drink his fill, and pretended. Just for a little while.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had tasted an Angel, drank in its Grace and felt the searing power of a star flow through his body. He felt lightheaded, mouth already dry and aching for another taste Addiction was a terrible thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean drank, and drank, until the warmth had returned to every part of his body and he felt heavy and sated and his throat no longer burned. For a long while, he couldn't feel anything except for the hum of satisfaction coming from his own throat, but then his awareness expanded outwards; he felt the warmth of another body pressing tight to his, heard the low, soothing rhythm of a stilted heartbeat against his back. Cloth was touching the bare skin of his arms, coarse and thin material – cheap, smelling faintly of grass and soap.

He opened his eyes. The world was dark outside, but his eyes were sharp and he could see easily – see, and recall with dreadful horror – the bodies of the demons he had slain, their eyes open and staring and blank. He had killed them – ripped their souls from their bodies with little more than a thought. The shotgun he had brought lay discarded beside one of them, and the door to the church that was flooded with candlelight remained open.

Sam Winchester was staring at him, frozen still and unmoving. Dean swallowed, licking his lips, and the crust of blood still coated his tongue, smearing it around. Who was he drinking from? His mind was too slow piecing the answer together, but when a warm and gentle hand laid itself across his back, he deflated. He knew.

"I shouldn't have done that," Dean whispered, swallowing loudly again. His hands were still clutching feverishly at the cheap material of the Angel's trench coat, the other tightly wrapped around Castiel's forearm. He released quickly as though he had been burned, shoving himself away, but he could not go far and so he ended up crouching in the dry grasses a few feet away from where the Angel was still kneeling.

"Forgive me," he said then, just as low, unable to meet the eyes of the creature that had gifted him the power and life contained within that fragile-looking shell. He had tasted an Angel, drank in its Grace and felt the searing power of a star flow through his body. He felt lightheaded, mouth already dry and aching for another taste.

Addiction was a terrible thing and he… God, he shouldn't have done that. Should not have allowed the Angel to rip his skin apart and give Dean his life and his strength – in years, decades, Dean had never had another primal source of food than his mate: his lover and protector and best friend. The infidelity stung at the backs of his eyes – would Castiel be ashamed of him? He had tasted another creature's blood, and drank from him, and allowed his life and power to sate Dean's thirst. Such an intimate act Dean had never shared since he had mated himself to Castiel – would the vampire hate him now? Would he be shunned, or punished, or cast aside for his breach of their bond?

The word caught in his brain, making him choke on his breath and _God_ , he reeked of blood. Could Castiel feel that Dean had drunk from another creature? Would he be able to tell?

Someone was shouting his name, in a voice so familiar and foreign at the same time that it made Dean want to run, as far and as fast as he possibly could. He wanted his mate, _needed_ Castiel's hands and mouth on him to center and ground him because Castiel had always been there when Dean was coming down from a feeding high. He hadn't known the loneliness and wanderlust that came with no permanent food source for a very long time.

"Dean! Dean?" His name again, uttered so stubbornly, and Dean opened his eyes, hadn't realized they were closed. When he raised his gaze, the Angel was there, eyes too gunmetal blue and shining with holiness and purity. So unlike the darker hue of his mate's. "Dean, are you alright?"

Spoken with such concern – Dean had to remind himself for a moment that the Angel's tempting blood was still smeared across his mouth. He had been marked by his betrayal. His throat burned. "I'm fine," he said, pushing himself to his bare feet and dusting himself off, trying to appear casual. "You guys were taking a long time. I wanted to…make sure you were okay."

Castiel smiled, straightening also when Dean did, and looked over to Sam for something to say. "I thought you said you didn't fight," Sam said, and Dean bit his lip, looking down at the ground. The blood smeared around his lips was starting to itch.

"I don't," Dean replied, eyes flashing up to meet the Hunter's confused gaze. "I survive."

"Is there somethin' we need to know before we go back in there?" Sam asked, taking a step forward towards where Castiel and Dean were standing – Dean noticed that the Angel also took a step in his direction, but he was placing himself just slightly between Dean and Sam and it made the creature relax. "What kind of creature are you?"

Dean swallowed again, eyes darting between Sam and Castiel. If they hadn't figured out what Dean was yet, then it was probably because they didn't know of his species. Dean wanted to keep it that way – he didn't need to be responsible for Hunters tracking down and killing members of his own species in an alternate universe.

"I…" He swallowed, looking to Castiel again and hoping to see some kind of understanding in the Angel's eyes, but there was nothing; curiosity and impatience and that same longing that Dean suspected had less to do with him and more to do with his lookalike. "I don't want to tell you," he finally settled on, confident that they would, if not want to, then at least be able to leave it at that. They couldn't kill him, after all – they needed him, until they had _their_ Dean back.

Sam's mouth turned down in a frown, and he looked to Castiel for the Angel's reaction to that. Castiel had that look on his face he got whenever Dean would make him smile – almost, faintly, wouldn't know it was there unless you were looking. "You don't have to tell us anything, Dean," he said, voice low and even and soothing as his hand reached out in an aborted movement for the creature, freezing in mid-air, fingers curling tight to his palm before his hand fell back to his side. It was still stained with his blood. "But we need to be able to protect you, and sate your needs. Something terrible could have happened just now."

"Something terrible _did_ happen," Dean hissed in reply, his eyes once more drawn to the bodies of the fallen demons for the first time since he had ripped their lives away from them. He covered his mouth with his hand. "I killed them."

"They were going to kill you first," Sam replied, in a voice that Dean supposed was meant to be reassuring, but it didn't make him feel any better.

"Even so." He forced himself to look away, eyes drawn to the light being cast from the still-open door leading to the church innards. In his mind flashed the image of the female demon he had seen, who had seen him – she was not among the slaughtered, so she must still be inside, or must have escaped unnoticed in the scuffle. "Your work here is not finished."

"No," Castiel said, pressing his lips together as he looked to Sam, straightening slightly. "No, it is not. And this incident will have drawn attention. We have less time than we'd thought."

Dean followed Sam and Castiel inside of the church, closing the doors behind the trio to block out the chill of the outside air. His hands were still shaking and he felt like he had just been spiked with adrenaline – his sight was sharp and his senses were so heightened, he could hear the scrape of air in their lungs accompanying the thud of heartbeats.

They approached the woman, and it quickly became apparent why she had remained where she was. There was a Devil's Trap carved into the stone around a large altar, and she was perched on the altar now, seemingly cool and collected with a small, haughty smirk on her face. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun on the top of her head, shining coppery like blood in the candlelight. Her eyes were fully blackened with Hellfire.

"Well, well," she said, her voice projecting through the entire abandoned church, and it made Dean shudder – even saying so little, her soul was so dark and disturbed and twisted that Dean could hardly recognize it for a soul anymore: what had once been human was shrouded with deceit and hate. "If it isn't the three muskateers."

Then, she tilted her head, eyes and smile widening. "Oh, hel _lo_." She pushed herself off of the altar, striding to the edge of her Trap and Sam was quick to step in front of Dean, demon-killing blade raised in full view. "What have we _here?_ "

Dean's eyes flashed to hers, wide and nervous, and her lips curled into a sneer. "A Babylonian _whore_ , no less."

At that, Dean lifted his chin in defiance. "Bite your fucking tongue, bitch," he hissed back, his anger sudden and gone almost as quickly as it had come – the racial slur was an outdated one and practically non-existent in his world anymore. Clearly, demons hadn't gotten the message here.

"Oh!" she said, eyes widening in delight as she clapped her hands together, a child-like giggle escaping her mouth. "He speaks! Wonderful!"

"Be silent," Castiel muttered, then, planting himself firmly between Dean and the demon woman. Dean ducked himself back, making sure Castiel's form eclipsed him entirely. He was still shaky around the edges, fingers flexing and unflexing by his side, and the power in the Angel's voice shook him in a way he could not handle in such close quarters. "You will tell us what you and your people were doing here."

"Having a tea party," the demon snapped in reply, grinning manically at Castiel's angry glare. "What business is it of yours, featherhead? You've never cared about a little demon barbeque, have you?"

"Cas," Sam muttered, stepping closer to the Angel and lowering his voice – why he bothered Dean had no idea; they could all hear him either way. "She's not gonna tell us anything. This is a waste of time."

Castiel turned his head, briefly, to look Sam in the eye, his own narrowed in thought. "A Babylonian whore," he repeated, quietly almost inaudibly under his breath, and looked away again. "A Babylonian…I know that name."

"Cas?" Both Dean and Sam were drawing closer, eager to listen to what the Angel was saying so quietly but thinking about so loudly. Dean's shoulders went tense at the same time Castiel finally looked up at him, eyes wide with understanding.

"Oh," he said.

"Don't tell the Hunter," Dean pleaded, hoping that Castiel would be able to understand why he asked such a thing – if word got out that his species roamed the Earth, they would likely be hunted to extinction, and he couldn't be responsible for that. Genocide was not something Dean wanted on his conscience.

"Don't tell me what?" Sam demanded, looking between Dean and Castiel in a mix of anger and frustration.

"Dean," Castiel said softly, making sure to wait until Dean's eyes flashed to his again, uncertain and anxious. The Angel, in a move he must have picked up from watching humanity so closely, jerked his head towards the demon with a small smile on his face. Dean hesitated, his eyes searching the Angel's face closely for what Castiel was trying to say. "Search her."

"What?" Dean asked, breathless with disbelief.

"Search her mind, Dean," Castiel replied, tilting his head to one side and smiling, encouraging. It reminded Dean of his own mate when he and Castiel had first met – the tightly reined-in power behind such a cool façade. Even foreign as this Castiel was, Dean could tell he was barely holding it together enough to be perceived as patient. His bright energy pulsed with loneliness and anger and longing, that invisible thread tying him to another stretched so tight and so thin that it was in danger of snapping altogether.

Dean would never wish that pain on another person. "Okay," he said, taking a step forward. His soul trembled at the sight of the Devil's Trap, but he had to trust that they would let him out when everything was done.

The demon's eyes widened when Dean stepped into the Trap with her, Hellfire filter falling away to reveal scared green eyes. Dean raised his hand towards her, fingers outstretched. "Try not to struggle," he said in warning, before touching his fingers to her cool skin. "It makes my job harder."

He closed his eyes, and held his breath, and dove into the murky swamp of the demon's soul.

  
  


"We're being followed."

Castiel nodded, pressing his lips together. "I know." He had been keeping tags on the two skinwalkers for the past several minutes. The dogs were, well, sloppy to say the least – he was almost disappointed that they considered him so low on the food chain to send two dogs after him. "Zachariah's men, I'm willing to bet. He always sends dogs." He scoffed again.

"Zachariah," the Hunter repeated in a low voice, shaking his head. "A dick in every universe, too. Figures."

Castiel didn't ask, because quite honestly he didn't care. "Come," he said, gesturing down a narrow side street. Gabriel was silent, leading the way – Castiel would bring up the rear, sandwiching the weakest of their party between them. "This way."

Dean was already pulling his gun out from where it kept it tucked into the back of his jeans, and Castiel's nose wrinkled at the sharp tang of silver in the air. Still, he had to give the human credit – at least he was well prepared.

"Three…" Dean's voice, then, low and measured and calm. His heartbeat was slow and very steady and Castiel had to wonder just how much of this was a daily routine for him. Wake up: Kill shit: Sleep. Did anything bother him anymore?

"Two…" Castiel's shoulders went tense and he tilted his head just enough to look behind him. The dogs were eclipsing the end of the street now. He could hear them growling, maws open wide as they shifted to their dog forms and began to lope faster towards them.

"One…" They were getting closer, so close, and Castiel had to fight the urge to turn around the end them right there. Then, Dean was turning, the flash of his gun almost startling in the low light, and Castiel darted out of the way in time for Dean to level his sight and plant a bullet right between the first dog's eyes. It fell to the ground with a high-pitched whimper.

The second one, though, was faster, and was on Dean before he could fire the second shot. Castiel was quick to tear the dog away with a low snarl – could feel Gabriel cursing low and darting around the Hunter to aid him in a fight, but Castiel didn't need it. With a quick twist of his hands the dog's neck was snapped and he slumped to the ground in front of Castiel, dead eyes staring back up as the dogs morphed back into their human shapes.

Castiel spit on the first fallen in disgust, nose wrinkling at the scent of their foul blood.

 _"Fuck_."

The low curse caught Castiel's attention, and both vampire and djinn turned to look at Dean. He was leaning against the wall, face pale and clammy-looking. There was a dark stain of red on his body and Castiel didn't need to look twice to figure out why.

"Did he get you?" Gabriel asked – a little redundantly if Castiel were to say so himself, but he kept quiet on the matter while Gabriel rushed forward to see what damage had been done.

The scent of Dean's blood was…intoxicating. Castiel's mouth went dry at the first light stirring in his senses, something so familiar and so foreign playing in the back of his throat, sliding into his mouth, clogging his brain. Though he tried to breathe deep and immerse himself in the scents of the dirty alley and the stench of the dogs' blood – Dean's human scent, so full of life and mortality and fragility, called out to him, cut through the rest of it until it was all he could see, all he could think about.

Gabriel was pressing down against Dean's stomach, the Hunter hissing his pain, head tilted back as he leaned against the wall, skin shining with sweat from pain and adrenaline. He'd start to freeze if they didn't get him inside soon – the blood loss was weakening him, making him slow, and faint – perfect prey, _closer, Cas,_ his throat was right there, exposed and welcoming like an invitation, and -.

"Castiel!"

Gabriel's voice sliced through Castiel's thrall, and the vampire blinked, swallowing harshly as he turned to look towards his friend and companion. "What?" he demanded, voice harder than he'd meant it to be, and he swallowed again, clearing his throat.

"I've managed to heal the damage," Gabriel said, either ignoring or ignorant of what had just been going through Castiel's head. Knowing the creature, Castiel would assume it was the former, but perhaps Gabriel's own emotional distress had blinded him to Castiel's momentary lapse. "He'll need to lose the shirt, though – it reeks of human. Will draw attention."

Castiel hissed in impatience, upper lip curling back. "We're wasting time, Gabriel!"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before letting him get into the line of fire!" the Djinn snapped back accusingly. "Fuck's sake, Cas, you could have taken those two out bare-handed. I _know_ you could have." He tilted his chin up in defiance, eyes flashing. "You need to get a fucking grip on yourself, Castiel, before you get someone killed."

"He is not _my_ responsibility," Castiel replied with a hiss. "I am not the one who brought him here."

Whatever Gabriel might have said was cut off when Dean groaned – low, pained-sounding, it drew both of the creatures' attention and immediately Gabriel was kneeling by Dean's side, one hand pressed against his chest. Something was wrong.

"Why isn't he waking up?" Castiel asked, worry in his voice despite himself – they needed this damned Hunter, he repeated in his head, voice a reprimanding snarl for allowing himself to care.

"I don't know." Gabriel's blue markings on his face were glowing faintly, his eyes searching through Dean's skin to find the source of the Hunter's distress.

Castiel's eyes widened, a dreadful conclusion forming in his mind when, again, the sour blood smell returned to the air, suffused and strong. He turned to look at the dog that had attacked Dean, and snarled at the smear of blood he saw. "They bit him," he said, almost too low to hear, kicking snow at the fallen corpse. "Fuck, Gabriel, they fucking bit him!"

The horror in the Djinn's eyes said enough. "Shit," he whispered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Dean shifted again, brows drawn together in pain, his mouth twisted into a grimace. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, and they were clenched tightly shut as he groaned again. "Shit, shit…I…" He huffed out a breath, standing. "Carry him, Castiel – I can fix this. I just need a safe place."

Without another word Castiel had scooped up the Hunter in his arms, the scent of blood almost overwhelming when Dean's neck so close to his mouth, but he forced himself – it was a trial, but he forced himself – to ignore it, and together both he and Gabriel raced back towards his house to try and heal Dean.

From above, cold eyes watched them. They blacked out. "I've delayed them," said a voice, speaking into a large goblet of fresh blood. A soft whisper was the only reply, and the smile widened. "Of course. Who else?"

The demon stood, discarding the blood into the snow by her booted feet. The red stood out starkly against the previously unmarred white snow, and she tucked the goblet back into her satchel, flinging the strap over her shoulder.

Time to collect her reward.  



	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, Cas, but you just wouldn't _listen_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean had never purposefully invaded the mind of another creature using his powers before. There was a time before Castiel, when Dean was little more than an animal driven by instincts, needs to fight and fuck and survive the only thing keeping him fast enough to avoid what few Hunters there were left in his world, and to avoid the higher powers living on the land that would find his presence distasteful. Despite that, Dean had never needed to use his species' trump card – that is, the ability to invade and investigate memories, thoughts and emotions of another creature. It was a tricky business and sketchy, both morally and physically, at best, but he was willing to give it a try if this demon could give him answers as to why he was here and how in the Hell he could get back.  
The woman's eyes were wide with surprise that Dean was going to attempt this magic on her, and she shrieked and lashed out at him with nails long enough to be called claws, and caught Dean on his neck, slicing three clean lines through him. At that, high off the recent feed and shaky with his power, Dean snarled at struck back, hand tightening around her throat hard enough to choke her. She didn't need air, but human instinct was a hard thing to overcome and her hands clawed at his arm, but his arms were longer and he could easily hold her at bay.

Dean closed his eyes, and concentrated. Part of him locked tight around the demon's blackened soul, squeezing with just enough pressure to give her a warning against struggling too hard, and the other part of him dove deeper. He stepped closer to the demon, eyes flaring open and shining with the silver lens, and her own eyes were blackened in defense and fear when he searched her, looked for the smallest crack in her façade that he would be able to slip through and infect her like a poison.

She swallowed, muscles in her neck flexing under Dean's hand, and the creature smiled, baring teeth that were still bloody from Castiel. His fingers tightened. "There we are," he whispered, allowing himself to fold and condense into the demon's soul, into her mind, soaking into her like water into a sponge, and once he was inside, he spread out and began to search.

"Tell me your name," he whispered aloud, so that Sam and Castiel could hear the questions he was asking her, even if they would not be able to hear what she said back.

Her voice, darker in her head somehow, like merely a name could threaten him, floated back across their entwined consciences; _Abaddon._  
"Abaddon," he repeated, for Sam and Castiel's benefit, but didn't withdraw enough to see if the name struck any chord with them. Instead, he pressed deeper, more eagerly immersing himself in the demon's psyche. "Why are you here?"

Her laughter made him shudder, and he bared his teeth at her again, hand around her neck squeezing harder. _For a tea party,_ she taunted back, her own smile widening at him. _Such pretty eyes, whore, I can't wait to claw them out._

Dean curled his upper lip back; he had forgotten how demons would talk you in circles before giving any real answer – one reason why they worked so well in law. Only thing that would argue with a demon was another demon. "I won't ask again."

 _Good,_ she replied with a grin, _'cause I don't like repeating myself._

Dean was beginning to lose what little patience he had had to begin with – the scent of Castiel's blood stung at his nose, coated the back of his throat like honey, and further reminded him of his betrayal to his mate. It made him feel wrong, savage, like back in the dark days before Castiel had found him and shown him how to live with what he was and control himself and be content with his lot in life. His species was rare and Dean had never known companionship like the vampire's until Castiel came along, and the fact that he would betray that trust and that bond so easily, slide back into the hollow pit of feral behavior and savagery that he'd had before – it bothered him. Made him angry, and violent.

Without warning he yanked the demon close to him, kicking out to make her trip and used his body weight to pin her to the ground. The part of him that was wrapped tight around her soul and not her neck, began to coil tighter – a large serpent that had caught a mouse – and he glared down haughtily at her while she began to choke and red light began to go off behind her eyes.

"Now you listen to me, you arrogant bitch," he hissed, arm braced and keeping her down with the chokehold, but now he was not just physically harming her, but in her soul as well. She could be snapped from existence with a twist of his hand, and the look in her eyes said she knew it. "You know exactly what I am and what I can do to you – so, this can go easily enough. You tell me what I want to know, I open this trap and we both go free. If not, well, I'm stuck in here as long as you are, and I got all the time in the world."

He leaned down, then, still not letting her talk because he was squeezing her so tightly, and she was beginning to choke, wide green eyes of her female vessel staring up at him with a mix of fear and defiance. "But you see that Angel and Hunter over there?" He forcibly turned her head so that they could both look at Sam and Castiel. Sam was watching with barely restrained tension, his shoulders tight and his gun-wielding hand tapping against his thigh in an irritated gesture. Castiel looked unperturbed save for the furrow in his brow, but Dean knew Abaddon would be able to sense the tension and anger rolling in the Angel's Grace. "Well, they want their Dean back, and I wanna go back to where I came from."

He loosened his hold on her, just a little, enough that she gasped and her eyes dimmed down to their normal color, red no longer flaring up behind her irises. "Give me a name, sweetheart," he murmured, savage and cruel as he smiled down at her. He felt like an animal, caged in and taunted with barbed hooks and the promise of freedom. He just wanted to go home – back to Castiel, _his_ Castiel, who would chain him down and keep him in control of himself in a way Dean simply couldn't on his own.

She stared up at him for another moment, searching his face and the silver that had returned to his eyes, before another name floated to him from across her soul; _Crowley_.

"Crowley," Dean repeated, and heard Sam suck in a surprised breath at the name. Okay, then. So they had a new lead, at least. That was promising. Without further ceremony Dean released her, body and soul, from his influence, and stood up, allowing her to catch her breath and rise to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. Bruises were forming around her vessel's neck and she was glaring at Dean like she wanted to tear his face off.

"Now, if that's all taken care of," Abaddon hissed, eyes blackened with hatred and narrowing towards Sam and Castiel, who were still standing immobile outside of the Devil's Trap. "I'd appreciate if you break this little sigil here and let me walk free."

When Sam and Castiel remained where they were, unmoving, Dean immediately went tense again. He remembered how Sam had been ready to go in here and slaughter all of the demons with little more motive than the fact they were demons. He knew this was a different world, things worked differently here, but he couldn't understand the racist motivation – it would be like Castiel randomly going up to Gabriel in the street and slaughtering him just because he was s Djinn. Dean couldn't understand it.

"I promised that we would let her go," Dean said firmly, eyes searching between Sam and Castiel for any weakness in their resolve, and Sam's jaw was clenching repeatedly, seemingly lost in his indecision, before the Angel sighed, shoulders slumping, and took a step towards the edge of the Devil's Trap. "Cas…"

"Dean, she is a demon. A powerful one," Castiel replied, eyes imploring Dean to understand, but the creature frowned. It was still weird, seeing and knowing that this Castiel was obviously not his, but with the scent of his blood and the taste of it in his mouth, Dean was having trouble separating the reality from what his instincts were telling him. "If we let her go, she could flee and warn Crowley that we were coming, or return with reinforcements to destroy us. We cannot allow such a thing to happen."

Dean gasped, unable to believe what he was hearing. "So, what, you're just gonna kill her?" he accused, gesturing in the demon's direction. She seemed mildly amused with the whole proceedings, weight on one leg and biting on a nail while she threw a wink Sam's way. "What the Hell is wrong with you? You're an _Angel_ , you're meant to _save_ people."

There was a split second of nothing, where Dean and Castiel just stared at each other, before Castiel rolled his shoulders; his Grace flaring inside of him very briefly, but powerfully, like a surge of anger and Dean could see it reflected in his eyes. "Do not presume to know me or my motives, Dean," he replied, voice surprisingly hoarse like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. "This is a very different world to yours, and we are wasting precious time."

Still Dean didn't move, and Castiel's eyes flashed with anger. "Step aside, Dean," he said, taking a step closer.

At that, Dean threw a hand out, but he didn't move to attack Castiel, or Abaddon – Castiel froze when he heard Sam take in a startled gasp, and turned to find the Hunter grabbing at his throat, already turning white from lack of air as Dean wrapped his fingers around the air, closing around Sam's throat.

"Open the Devil's Trap, Angel, or I swear to God I'll -."

He couldn't finish – didn't need to. Sam had fallen to his knees, dropping his weapon, clawing at something that wasn't there to be budged. Dean's eyes were hard on Castiel, waiting for his reaction as Castiel watched Sam fall, eyes wide and almost panicked. His Grace flared with indecision, instinctive malice towards anything doing Sam harm, and then he finally turned to Dean.

The creature felt like he was going crazy – his fingers were frozen. He wouldn't tighten them anymore, but that didn't mean Sam would live if he kept it up too long. He couldn't force the threat out, but he didn't need to – Castiel didn't dare call his bluff.

"Okay, Dean, okay," the Angel murmured, holding his hands up in surrender and pleading with Dean to stop. After another second, Dean allowed his arm to drop, his fingers shaking as Sam gasped and tried to regain air into his starving lungs. Castiel waved his hand and a foot of the outer circle in the Devil's Trap disappeared, allowing both Dean and Abaddon to walk free.

The demon clapped her hands slowly in appreciation, and turned towards Dean. "I'll remember this, whore," she said, but not with the same derision as before, and Dean hissed at her, upper lip curling back, before she walked out of the church unmolested and disappeared out of the front door. Dean stepped out of the broken Trap as well, just in case Castiel decided that he had forfeited his trust and would be trapped within once again.

Castiel turned from him without a word, and went to Sam's side, helping him up to be sure he was alright. Dean bit his lower lip, rubbing the back of his head – he could read the betrayal and anger still set into the Angel's expression, the grey marring his churning Grace.  
When Sam and Castiel were both standing again and Sam appeared to have recovered, Castiel turned back to Dean. The look in his eyes demanded an explanation, down to the clench of his jaw and the tilt of his head.

Dean swallowed, and said earnestly; "You just wouldn't _listen_."

"Well, I suppose it is not of import anymore," Castiel replied tersely, settling a hand on Sam's arm. "Are you alright?" he asked, and the Hunter nodded, breathing out heavily through his nose and trying to avoid Dean's eyes. "Then we had best return to the motel room for the night, and begin the search for Crowley. I have no desire to play this mission out any longer than it has to." With that, the Angel turned cold, guarded eyes back to the creature. Dean looked contrite, but of course he would – this thing did have a conscience, however grey it was: Castiel just didn't appreciate someone threatening his friend, especially wearing the face of someone he was so close to. "I want to get you back where you belong as soon as possible."

 

 

 

Dean was screaming – loudly, seemingly without end. The poison from the skinwalker's bite had seeped well and truly into his body, and if Gabriel didn't act fast, they would likely lose him to the change, or the disease.

"Set him down, set him down!" the Djinn demanded, black markings flaring to life on his face as he pushed the instruments Castiel had set on the table in the basement aside, and the vampire obeyed, laying him on his side so that when he began to cough up blood he wouldn't be choked on it. "Fuck, okay, Cas, get me silver and wolfsbane and something I can close the wound with. I'll try and hold it at bay for now."

Without a word the vampire disappeared, reappearing moments later with what Gabriel had asked for. Gabriel knew that Castiel, trained as he was and in the line of work that he is, would have a stash of pretty much any and all kinds of ways to kill or harm or discourage another supernatural creature from invading or attacking him. Dean and Gabriel were the only ones who could enter his house freely without special permission, and Gabriel knew Castiel would have a veritable hoard of weapons and spell ingredients at his disposal.

The Djinn muttered out a terse 'Thanks', and set to work. Castiel hovered close-by, ready to be of help or fetch more things if it was needed. The sight of Dean, strung out on the poison and clearly in pain, distressed him – though he wasn't sure if it was because it reminded him too strongly of Dean in the _before_ , when instinct and violence had driven him, or if it was because he stood a good chance of potentially losing his only lead on what had happened to his mate.

He trusted Gabriel, knew the Djinn knew was he was doing, but he still worried.

Dean let out another loud, pained cry, and the sound of it was enough to make Castiel flinch, nails digging into his forearms to try and stop himself going to the creature who looked so much like his mate, sounded like him when he was in such pain. He closed his eyes and turned away, breathing out. The stench of human blood, tainted as it was by skinwalker poison, was nauseatingly strong and Castiel wished for nothing more than to go outside.

Finally – _finally_ , thank God – Dean's cries subsided, and he fell into a fitful state somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. Gabriel sighed in relief, wiping a blood-stained forearm across his sweaty brow, and stood from where he had been bent over Dean, working on him to try and stop the effects of the poison, if not remove it completely.

"I've managed to halt its progress," he said, wiping his face again. "He'll need to keep dosing up on wolfsbane, and as long as he manages that the bite should eventually wither and die."

"If he is truly friends with an Angel," Castiel whispered, voice raw, "then I have no doubt they will be able to take care of it once he is returned to his rightful place."

"Why the fuck does Zachariah want with you now? I thought you'd settled the dispute with the covens down South."

Castiel frowned at that, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He folded his arms across his chest and glanced over to Dean, then to Gabriel, and back. "I have no idea," he said, hesitantly – not in the way that meant he was lying, but in the way that he was trying to come up with the answer as he spoke. "It is entirely possible, I suppose, that the skinwalkers were able to smell Dean and moved in on us purely for the sport of it. I can't think of another reason."

Gabriel considered that, looking back to the prone form of the human. Dean's heartbeat was too fast, trying to pump all of the poison out of him, and Gabriel shook his head. "Nah, when is it ever that simple, huh? This thing reeks of foul play." He paused again, cocking his head to one side, before he turned to look back at the vampire. "I'm gonna go outside, scout around, see what I can see. You stay here and guard the Hunter."

Castiel's lip curled back in instinctive reply to that, but he acquiesced with a nod of his head – it made more sense. Castiel was a better fighter, could defend Dean better should trouble come their way, and Gabriel, true, had duller senses than Castiel, but he had more than the vampire could even begin to imagine – Djinni could see things that weren't necessarily there to human or other supernatural eyes, and if anyone could sniff out something dark going on behind this, it would be him.

"Be safe out there, Gabriel," Castiel murmured when the Djinn was headed up the stairs to the house proper. Gabriel didn't reply vocally, but he paused for a moment and nodded before continuing onwards.

The click of the door behind him seemed very final, somehow.


End file.
